Astronomy Domine
by Ninja Violinist
Summary: Dick Roman's final act was to take vengeance upon those who killed him. The energies wrought by his death propel Dean and Castiel centuries into the future to an isolated space station that will soon be the centerpiece of an intergalactic war. SPN 7/ST:DS9 2
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : Supernatural and Star Trek are properties of other people who aren't me.

* * *

 **TIMELINES EXPLANATION** : This fic begins immediately after Supernatural Season 7 (leviathan finale) and between Star Trek: DS9 episodes 2.19 and 2.20 (just before the introduction of the Maquis). Some of the events mentioned in the Star Trek universe had to be shifted about in order to accommodate the actual and SPN events of the early twenty first century.

* * *

"Did you really think you could trump _me_?"

That smug son of a bitch thought he'd won. "Honestly?" Dean asked, pulling a second bone from his jacket. "No."

Castiel pulled the leviathan leader's head back and the hunter plunged the sanctified weapon into Dick Roman's neck. The pained gurgles and choking noises he made were incredibly satisfying. "Figured we'd have to catch you off guard," Dean smirked as Sam and Kevin ran into the room.

The purgatory native snarled horribly, his face distorting into a multitude of teeth and a long, serpentine tongue. Then it was back to those stolen features, the black goop that passed for leviathan blood streaming down his nose. Pulsating waves of energy emanated from Roman's body, accelerating as he died.

The bastard _smiled_ before exploding. A shockwave hit Dean. Agony ripped through his body before it thankfully shut down.

* * *

 _Intruder alert… Intruder alert…_

 _Get them inside, quickly!_

 _Sir, one of them just… disappeared!_

 _Well this one is dying, so I don't care about someone who I can't even see. Come on, you and you: grab his arms and legs and carry him onto that table there. He's just lucky he appeared right in front of the infirmary. And shut off that damn alert!_

 _Doctor, what's going on?_

 _Commander, two humans just appeared out of nowhere on the Promenade. I need to care for one of them right away._

 _I'll send a security detail down immediately_.

 _There's something oddly familiar about the way this one's dressed but I just can't put a finger on it…_

* * *

The first thing Dean Winchester realized when he opened his eyes was that he was lying naked on his back on one of the most uncomfortable beds in existence. That and he somehow felt healthier than he had in years which, after a lifetime of greasy food, alcohol, and being shot, stabbed, and pummeled numerous times, just didn't make any sense. He sat up and stared at his surroundings, nonplussed.

Everything was _shiny_ and _gray_. Things were incomprehensively bleeping and humming and little orange displays were running lists on the walls. The back of one woman dressed in some kind of blue and brown uniform was facing him from a separate room.

At least it wasn't Hell. Or Heaven. Or Purgatory.

 _Maybe_ it was Purgatory.

Dean nearly screamed when someone placed a hand on his shoulder. When he turned, a man of East Indian descent wearing a blue and black pantsuit was hovering over him waving a cell phone around his body. "Easy now," he said in a cultured English accent. "You've been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours."

"Uh, okay," the hunter managed.

"I'm Dr. Bashir. I've been watching over you since you arrived. You had an extensive number of old injuries along with the burns that came from that corrosive black liquid you were covered in. We managed to correct a number of bones that had been set unprofessionally, cleared your liver of the onset of alcoholic hepatitis, and cleansed your coronary arteries of a remarkable amount of plaque."

"Thanks?"

Dr. Bashir put the cell phone onto a table that had several other weird devices on it. "I'll need to notify the commander you've awoken. Can you tell me your name?"

Dean had a conundrum. His normal _modus operandi_ was to lie, especially since that havoc wreaked by the leviathans in his and Sammy's skins a few months prior. Then again, if he was in a _military_ facility (commander of what?) then they were going to find out his identity pretty quickly through the federal database. He settled for something in between. "Uh, Dean. Dean Smith."

"Can you tell me how you got here, Dean Smith?"

"Not a goddamn clue. And where is ' _here_ '?"

"You're currently on the space station Deep Space 9 near Bajor." The doctor blinked at Dean's blank expression. "In the Alpha Quadrant? Near the wormhole? The former Cardassian outpost?"

With each question, the hunter became more and more agitated. None of the words the doctor said made any sense. Maybe the leviathan had knocked him into crazytown and the words were being garbled? Maybe the doctor was speaking in Hindu or something? Maybe the lady in the blue and brown uniform that had just approached had some kind of skin deformity between her eyes?

Then Dean zeroed in on the two words that did make sense. That _couldn't_ make sense. That if they were part of " _sense_ " then Dick had dicked him over in ways he couldn't even begin to fathom.

"Did you say… _space station_?"

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Hi, and thanks for reading! This idea came about after reading the most awesome Buffy/Star Trek: TNG crossover fic _Legend_ by **ShayneT**. DS9 has always been my favorite Star Trek franchise (with TNG a close second) and Supernatural is just full of awesomeness so I'm hoping this works out. I'm hoping I can mix a bit of humor and drama just like both of these shows are so well at doing. The storyline will follow DS9's but definitely with some changes. Now if I could only figure out how to squeeze Q in here…


	2. Chapter 2

7/13/2016 - I'm going all curse word happy for this fic. My other SPN crossover with BtVS just didn't seem like four letter words would fit. Here it's fun! Yay!

Anyways, I'm sort of more Sith than Trekkie, so if I'm getting stuff wrong don't hold back!

* * *

Odo was fairly certain that the tone the intruder was utilizing meant nothing good for the doctor. He resisted the urge to look back into the room and instead glared down a few curious Bajorans who had drifted over from Quark's. They took the hint rather quickly and hurried off.

He couldn't, however, prevent himself from glancing confusedly at the nearest computer when a few of the words the intruder made didn't seem to translate. What was a " _motherfucker_ " and a " _bullshit_ "? The first seemed to be implying an intimate incestual relationship with one's female progenitor and the second seemed to refer to the fecal matter of a male beast of burden.

Bashir's attempts to placate the intruder seemed to be making things worse, and when something crashed onto the floor Odo was forced to intervene. He ran into the room to see the intruder sitting up, his face twisted in rage, and the physician standing back with his hands up. A pile of medical instruments was strewn over the floor. "Is everything all right, doctor?" the shapeshifter asked.

The intruder whipped his head over to the security officer and his eyes widened. "What the fuck is _that_?" he shouted.

Offended, though not _entirely_ surprised at the query, Odo straightened up and glowered. "I am the chief of security on this station," he declared.

"Dean, calm down," Bashir said calmly.

"Calm down? _Calm down_? You just told me I'm on a goddamn _space station_ in the middle of… of _space_ and you want me to _calm the fuck down_?" The intruder, Dean, gripped his hair for a moment then let go. He peered suspiciously from Odo to the doctor then shook his head. "Nah," he muttered mostly to himself. "Gabriel's _dead_. Couldn't be."

"Is Gabriel the other man who was with you?"

Dean snapped his eyes up at the doctor. "Other man?"

"Yes," Bashir affirmed. "A man in white with a coat. He disappeared as soon as he saw where he was but I'm fairly certain he's still alive."

"Cass." It was remarkable, thought Odo, how swiftly this human's mood changed. So far he'd displayed anger, confusion, and now relief all within the span of about three minutes. Then, even more oddly, Dean began shouting up to the ceiling. "Cass? Cass! _Castiel_! Get your feathery ass over here!"

What sounded like the flutter of enormous wings filled the air and the second intruder suddenly appeared. Instinctively Odo hit his comm badge and demanded, "Security to the infirmary!"

The new man had a vaguely glassy expression as he looked up and down, left and right, devouring the sight of the room with an almost childlike wonder. "Dean," he said, his voice remarkably gravelly, "did you know we're in the middle of space?"

" _Fuck_ ," the other intruder said despairingly. "These dudes are telling the truth?"

"Yes. It's rather remarkable. I walked around a little bit outdoors but it was too cold. Did you know this place has no insects or birds, but there's a fascinating breed of ugly, naked rats that live in and around the building? Oh, hello," he stated as a team of Bajoran security personnel rushed in, phasers prepped.

"Did-Did you say you walked _outdoors_?" queried an astonished Bashir.

"Yes. Highly unpleasant."

"Sir?" one of the Bajorans asked.

"Stand down," Odo responded. "Doctor, is this another Q?"

Bashir's mouth thinned. The shapeshifter could relate; Q was decidedly _not_ congruent with any attempt to maintain law and order. The doctor knelt down and retrieved his tricorder from the floor at the foot of the gurney. It hummed as he scanned the second intruder. "No, not a Q, thank goodness. In fact," his brow furrowed, "I have no idea what he is."

"Cass," Dean interjected as the other man opened his mouth to explain his origins, "just… just zap us back home already. This is getting stupid."

"I can't."

"What?"

"I can't," he repeated pleasantly. "We are very, very far from Earth. Approximately fifty point three light years away."

" _Excuse me_? Are you telling me we need a fucking _Millennium Falcon_ to get us home?"

"Oh. And I believe it is the year 2370. Did I not mention that?"

" _WHAT_?"

"Odo," Bashir said quietly, "I think it might be best if you and your men stayed outside."

"If you say so, doctor," the shapeshifter replied doubtfully. He resolved to insure that this "Dean" was monitored at all times. If he hadn't seen the man's bare features he would have thought the intruder was a Klingon. Best to treat him like one, then.

* * *

No. No no no no _no_ , this wasn't happening. That asshat Zachariah had zapped him _five_ years into the future. If Cass was telling the truth then they were somehow _three hundred and fifty_ years in the future. Dean gripped his head and stared down at the blanket covering his knees. He didn't want to believe this, really truly didn't want to believe this. Not one bit.

Because if he did, then Sam was dead. _Long_ dead.

For right now, he decided it was probably best to play along with the farce. After all, from the way Cass was talking it sounded like he was still trying to put himself back together after absorbing Sam's madness. Fury flared for a moment at that thought before he pragmatically shoved it down. Maybe the seraph was addled enough not to recognize whatever was going on. He watched as the angel got uncomfortably close to the woman in blue and brown and peered at her intricate earring.

"That is _fascinating_ ," Castiel murmured as the woman surreptitiously tried to scoot away. "Did you know that this jewelry has a substantial amount of spiritual essence? Much like the crucifix or the Star of David."

"It's part of Bajoran culture," clarified the doctor. "A symbol of her faith and family."

"Ah yes, I see. I think I will go visit their gods."

"No, wait-" Bashir cried as Castiel flew off.

"He's going to visit the _Prophets_?" the woman gasped.

"Yeah, he does that," Dean explained. He gave the doctor a halfhearted smile. "Future, huh?"

"Yes, I suppose. What _is_ your friend?"

"Ask him."

The doctor blinked at his recalcitrance. He then changed subjects. "What year do you think this is supposed to be?"

"Uh, let's see." The hunter pretended to contemplate the question. "Far as I know it was 2012."

"Twenty-first century! Yes, that would explain your clothing! I recall seeing pictures during history class. It also explains the toxicity of your blood and the crude manner of your hospital care."

Dean didn't feel like telling the doctor-hallucination that his so-called "hospital care" was more often than not a bottle of whiskey and Sam's ham-handed stitches. "Sure, okay. So what now, doc?"

"I would prefer you rest a bit more. I'm sure this is all a bit of a shock. Filara here will watch over you."

The hunter leered at the Filara-hallucination. Other than the nose, she really was very attractive. The woman seemed taken aback at his forwardness. "Yeah, sure she will. 'Night doc."

* * *

"What do you think, doctor?"

Dr. Bashir stood in front of Commander Sisko's desk nearly bouncing on his heels in excitement. The Commander thought it remarkable that the man held on to his professional demeanor while his discoveries were making him so giddy. By contrast, Odo was the epitome of stern disapproval.

"Oh, I'm almost _absolutely_ certain he's telling the truth," Bashir replied. "Dean's body has been exposed to a level of environmental toxicity that hasn't been seen on Earth in _centuries_. And his colloquialisms! I think the universal translator is actually having some difficulty."

"I believe he referred to the doctor as someone who procreates with their mother," Odo helpfully supplied. "And he utilizes the word for copulation as a noun, an adjective, and an expletive."

Sisko lifted an eyebrow torn between amusement and consternation. He could only picture how his father would react if his son, Jake, visited Earth with some historically accurate obscenities. "Has he said how he got here?"

"Unfortunately, no," answered the doctor. "I have this feeling he's in denial over what's happened to him. I've also saved some of that viscous black material he was covered in so that I can identify it. Preliminary results show that it may be some sort of _blood_."

Odo harrumphed and appeared to dismiss Bashir's speculations as unimportant. "Commander, this 'Dean Smith' is human, that we've established. It's this other thing, the 'Castiel,' that concerns me."

Sisko picked up the PADD on his desk and flicked over to the report he'd received this morning. "If I'm to believe the work crews that were repairing Docking Bay 3, a human wearing nothing but white clothing and a coat suddenly appeared on the _outside_ of the airlock and went for a casual stroll."

"Yes. I believe he described the experience as 'cold' and 'unpleasant.'"

"He then said he was going to go visit the Bajoran gods," added the doctor.

The commander slapped his PADD down onto his desk, stupefied. "Are you telling me this Castiel went to go visit the _wormhole aliens_?"

"That's what he said."

"In what ship?"

"No ship, commander. He just… left."

"And you're _certain_ he's not a Q?"

"The energy readings were different. Some similarities, but not enough to identify them as the same species. I'll need to study them more."

Sisko sighed, contemplating the dilemma. Their encounter with Q had been more exasperating than anything, but the being was known to be capricious. According to O'Brien, Q had put the Enterprise crew through a number of odd, mostly harmless trials before tossing them into a far flung sector of the universe in a fit of pique. That petulant decision gave the Federation their first, harrowing experience with the Borg. The Commander had no intention of provoking this Castiel into a similar maneuver, but until they knew _what_ he was there were no counter measures available.

The time-traveling human was another matter. "Doctor, once Dean is ready let's give him some quarters. I'll need to contact Starfleet and see if they have any experts on the twenty-first century that can verify his story."

"Yes sir," Bashir saluted before heading back to the infirmary.

"Constable," Sisko said to the shapeshifter, "keep at least one member of security on him at all times."

If Odo had an eyebrow he could lift, Sisko was certain it would be sky high. "Do you think he's dangerous?"

"I'm more concerned with how a man from before Earth's First Contact will react once he realizes he's seeing 'aliens.'"

* * *

"So what's your name? Bumpy? Craggy? Fish-nose?"

As they marched through what looked like a bizarre shopping center, Dean tried his best to get friendly with his escort. They wore a similar uniform to the man who had no definitive facial features, but, like Filara, appeared human other than the ridges above his nose. The hunter decided that whoever was running this hallucination needed to work on creating personalities; these dudes were making rocks seem interesting.

The doctor had explained that Dean had been allocated "living quarters" which sounded infinitely better than "jail." After supplying him with some nondescript clothing (some kind of overlapping long sleeved top and straight legged pants) Tweedledee and Tweedledum had shown up to take him there.

Nobody looked at him twice in his new outfit, but _he_ was definitely gawking. Whoever had designed this place had gone overboard with the whole creative people thing. There were a lot of the nose-ridges, some regular humans, someone that was _blue_ , some short dudes with big ears and crooked teeth, and so many more. Some of them wore different colored variations of either his escort's uniform or the doctor's, some wore diaphanous gowns, some wore a similar ensemble as the one he'd been given. At the very least, the sights were entertaining.

"I'm going to call _you_ Fish-nose," Dean told the man in front, "and you get to be Craggy."

Craggy ground his teeth and looked like he wanted to use the mini hand-vacuum strapped to his belt but he said nothing. That was probably best; it wouldn't be right to start his stay here by beating up the hallucinations.

As they entered the elevator, Fish-nose barked a floor number and they moved. During the ride, Dean ticked off the creatures that could have done this to him. The Trickster, aka Gabriel the archangel, was dead. Djinn, depending on the species, liked to pull from your own nightmares or your own fantasies. The hunter couldn't have imagined _this_ place in his wildest dreams. An angel or a demon might be messing with his head, but why? They always had a why.

Glumly, Dean had to face the fact that whatever was messing with his head was most likely something unknown. Maybe Eve had left some new spawn crawling about that she had forgotten to boast about. Maybe…

Maybe these guys were telling the truth.

Nope, not heading in that line of thinking.

He was spared further speculation by their arrival at his "living quarters." The doors slid open on their own to reveal basic, impersonal furniture; comfortable but without individualized decor that would have denoted an actual home. It reminded him of the motels he and Sam usually frequented except significantly cleaner and larger. "Hey, Fish-nose!" he called. "Where can I get a bite to eat?"

"The replicator."

"The whatitator?"

"Replicator, sir," Fish-nose clarified. He pointed at a small, lit alcove. "Right over there."

"Uh, okay."

The doors slid shut. Before the view of the hallway disappeared, Dean saw Craggy and Fish-nose take guard positions on either side. Huh. So these "living quarters" really were going to be some kind of "jail." Well, he'd escaped from them before, no use worrying about that now.

There was a spectacular view of outer space through the windows. Dean was impressed with whatever creature had stuck him in here. There were _thousands_ of stars unobscured by the usual pollutants or ozone or whatever it was that normally clouded the air. Unfortunately, there were no recognizable constellations. He'd always been able to at least find Orion's Belt.

The hunter walked over the repli-something and looked around for a keyboard or a button or a phone or _something_ that would let him order a meal. He let out an exasperated sigh and started randomly pressing the lighted panel. A series of harsh buzzes sounded.

"Great," Dean muttered. "I just want a frickin' burger and maybe some pie."

A hum erupted from the alcove and he watched, astonished, as a swirl of energy coalesced into a tasty looking hamburger and a slice of apple pie. "Oh, _hell_ yes," he cheered as he picked up the plates. "How about a beer?"

"Please specify what type of beer," said a woman's voice. Dean immediately dubbed it Compy.

"Uh, I dunno. Corona with a lemon in it." And after another series of hums and whirly lights there it was! He made his way to the table with his bounty and sat so that he had a full view of the space spectacle.

"Best. Hallucination. Ever."


	3. Chapter 3

7/14/2016 - I really should be working on my Buffy x-over but I'm having too much fun with this one ^_^ I'm thinking right now I might go through a lot of DS9, but it's hard to think of how to end things without making it corny.

Thank you **princessbinas** for the review!

* * *

At approximately 0600 hours, just as Commander Sisko was preparing to get out of bed, Odo paged him. "I apologize for the hour, Commander, but we have a problem."

"What is it, Constable?" Sisko yawned.

"It's about our time traveler. I think it's best if you and the doctor met me in the security office as soon as you can."

Apprehensively, the Commander agreed. As soon as Odo had cut communications he indulged in an exasperated sigh, one that he repeated when thirteen-year-old Jake popped his head in to excitedly ask, "A _time traveler_?"

"Yes, Jake." Then he admonished, "But you are not to tell _anyone_ about him, understood? _Especially_ Nog."

His son was disappointed at not being able to share such wonderful news with his Ferengi best friend. "But why?"

"Jake, what do you think would happen if Nog's uncle got wind of the man?"

The boy thought for a moment. "Probably sell tickets."

"Exactly. So do me a favor: keep it a secret, all right?"

Jake agreed and the Commander took the opportunity to stretch before preparing to hurry through his normal morning ablutions. If Odo was agitated, his discovery spelled trouble.

* * *

Sisko and Odo looked at Dr. Bashir, irritated, as he strolled in later than expected. "Sorry," he apologized through an enormous yawn, "was up almost all night looking at that black stuff."

"And?" asked the Commander.

"I have no idea what it is," the doctor answered as he sat by Sisko. "It's blood, but whatever species it came from defies any logical patterns. There are actually a lot of similarities to you, Odo."

"Me?" the Constable said, astonished.

"Yes. Some shape-shifting DNA, but restricted, I believe, only to _humanoid_ species."

Odo scoffed then placed his PADD in front of the two men. "I took the liberty of scanning the Earth archives for our time traveler's DNA and fingerprints. This is what I found."

The other two men read the screen, then glanced at one another in consternation. "Is this accurate?" queried Bashir. "You're _sure_ this is him?" Odo merely nodded.

The Commander sighed and sat back. "What do you suggest, Constable?"

"I would _prefer_ we had him in a holding cell until we're certain whether or not he holds a danger to everyone."

"Doctor, is he healthy enough to weather that sort of strain?"

Still shaken by the Constable's revelations, Bashir opened his mouth a few times without managing to utter a word. "I-I-I think so?" he finally stuttered.

"Very well," acknowledged Commander Sisko. "Do what you must, Constable."

"Uh, Commander?" Bashir interjected as the other two stood. "I would highly recommend you transport him in there rather than sending some security personnel."

"Why, doctor?"

"Judging by how he acted yesterday, I have this feeling he's not going to go quietly."

* * *

Dean gorged himself on pie and beer before falling asleep on the couch. When he awoke, it was to the clatter of plates and bottles. He grimaced and looked around for a sink. The only one he could find was in the bathroom, so he dutifully brought all his dishes in there to wash later and lined the bottles up along the window. If he was going to be hallucinating his own room, then he was going to hallucinate a _clean_ room. He then stared at the shower.

There was no spigot, no dials, and no drain. It was some sort of lit closet with one of those small computer screens off to one side. Tentatively, the hunter poked a few buttons and a pleasant hum began to sound. He stuck a hand in the lighted area and felt a vibration against his skin. When he pulled it out, the appendage felt surprisingly free of dirt, oil, and whatever else might have accumulated on it since he arrived.

"Huh. Alrighty then," Dean said to himself before stripping down and heading in.

It was very, _very_ weird to just stand there and get clean without soap or shampoo. He pressed the panel again and the sensations stopped. The hunter hated to admit it, but it was honestly the freshest he'd felt… ever.

Dean dressed back in the clothing he'd been loaned and then stood there, uncertain of what he was supposed to do. Figure out how to wake himself up, that was for certain. He tried denying the illusion, which normally worked with djinn, and saw no change. Then he tried entering and exiting the bathroom door several times; when the Trickster held him and Sam the doorways would often open up into other traps. Calling Cass did nothing; maybe he'd already escaped, or maybe he was bonding with the "Prophets." Finally the hunter resorted to smacking himself in the face. _Hard_.

"Ow," he muttered, rubbing his cheek. Man. Whatever monster had done this had really locked his claws into his head. Last resort would be to kill himself; a risky but surefire measure to wake up from induced dreams.

Before Dean could even contemplate how to commit suicide without weapons or even cutlery (he doubted his pie forks would do any good), a light swirled around him. It was similar to what he had observed in the repli-thingy. "What the fuck…?"

He felt as if he were being _pulled_. It wasn't painful, and it wasn't completely unpleasant, but it was definitely high up on the strange. When it ended, he was in another room. A room with a _very_ familiar feel.

It was a jail cell.

"Oh, _come on_!" Dean shouted. No door, but when he tried to walk out he was stopped by a shimmering wall. As the hunter was experimentally poking the invisible barrier, the chief of security thing walked in. He was holding a tablet and his body language was decidedly more hostile than it had been the day before.

"Are you or are you not Dean Winchester, born January 24, 1979?" the chief demanded.

Taken aback, all the hunter could respond with was, "Uh…"

"The Dean Winchester that in March of 2006 committed three accounts of first degree murder?"

"Hey look–"

"That in January of 2007 robbed a bank with his brother, Sam Winchester, held nearly a dozen hostages, and was culpable in the death of at least three people?"

"That wasn't–"

"And then in February of 2008 was declared _dead_ after an explosion which took the lives of half a dozen people including an agent of the law?"

"But that was–"

"Finally, in October of 2011 went on a _murder spree_ with his brother across the Earth country that was known as the United States of America before being declared dead. _Again_."

"Dude, for a figment of a monster's imagination you have a lot of frigging information about me."

The chief tilted his head slightly and his pseudo-lips lifted in a sneer. "I assure you that I am not a 'figment of a monster's imagination.' Far as I can tell the only monster about is the one sitting in front of me."

Frustrated, Dean glared at the thing. "Look, man. There are explanations for every single one of those, but if I told you the truth, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me," the chief said derisively.

The hunter wiped a hand down his face and drew in a sigh. "Look, is this another guilt trip thing? Can I just admit that people I know got killed because of me and not have to go through this ghost bullshit again?"

"I don't know about any ghosts."

Dean's temper spiked. "Okay, I'm _through_ with this crap. Whatever the hell you are, cut it out _right now_ and maybe, just _maybe_ , me and my brother don't blow your head off."

"Ah, yes, the brother." The thing tapped on his tablet a bit. "Sam Winchester, born May 2nd, 1983. Married to Amelia Winchester, formerly Amelia Richardson. Had his record expunged after the Eugenics War for heroic acts on the battlefield."

" _Eugenics_ War?"

"Graduated from the Stanford Law School, became a public prosecutor. Had two children, Deanna and Mary. Died June 15th, 2050 of a myocardial infarction at the age of sixty-seven in the middle of World War III."

"World War _Three_?" Then Dean paused. "Sammy has _kids_? Who the fuck is _Amelia_?" He pounded the barrier with his fist. " _What kind of bullshit is this_?"

He was furious. If this was a monster screwing with him then it was a particularly malicious one. It knew just what to say to make him think this whole hallucination _might_ be real. If he could only get some word out to Sam, maybe to Kevin…

There was something. The Chief was watching him expectantly. "You know so much," Dean growled, "tell me about a Kevin Tran."

"Another one of your victims?"

" _No_ , just…" Soon as he could, Dean was going to punch some _features_ onto that thing. "Please. Do me a favor."

"Very well." The chief blip-blooped about his tablet for a bit. "There are approximately nine hundred individuals with that name on Earth during your time period. I'll need you to be more specific."

"Kid was from Michigan. Don't think there were a lot of Trans in Michigan."

The thing tapped about again. "Ah, yes. Kevin Tran. Disappeared from his home in May of 2012. Body found in June of 2013."

"Body?"

"Apparently the boy had been subjected to a lengthy period of rather brutal torture. I don't suppose you have this name because you and your brother were the ones that kidnapped him? Maybe Sam decided to finish whatever sadistic plans you had for the poor boy?"

Worse and worse. The only beings other than Sam and the angels that knew Kevin was a Prophet was Crowley. His brother would _never_ have abandoned that kid to go running off with this Amelia. That was the sliver of doubt Dean decided to hold on to until Cass got his stupid butt back to the "space station." If the angel could get his head screwed back on then maybe they could figure a way out of this whole, elaborate illusion.

"Yeah, okay, dude," the hunter said finally. "Whatever." He plopped down on one of the cell's benches.

"You never answered my initial question. Are you or are you not Dean Winchester?"

"Yup, that's me." Dean laced his fingers behind his head, leaned back, and tried to get comfortable. "Dean frigging Winchester."

"Very well." The chief security thing then walked away without another word.

How did the guy know about the whole thing with the FBI and the stupid leviathan doppelgängers? Did he just _make up_ all that crap about Sam? And Kevin. _Would_ Sam have let Crowley do that to the little nerd just so he could have a regular family?

Dean thought about his brother abandoning them for Stanford and how many times Sam had said he wanted out of the hunter life. He remembered how _screwed up_ Sammy's life had become as a full-fledged hunter, from the demon blood addiction to being Lucifer's vessel, not to mention losing his soul and nearly going insane when it was put back in. _Would_ Sam have abandoned everything if his big brother were no longer there to hunt with?

He would. He'd leap out at the first opportunity. And if Dean _had_ really disappeared from Sam's life because Dick Roman didn't have the courtesy of dying without fucking him over one last time, then his little brother would have been overjoyed to become a civilian.

But for right now, it was easier to pretend Mr. Chief Thing was lying. If this was real, then Dean had no idea what he was going to do.

* * *

Castiel was _very_ confused.

He was standing in the basement where he and Crowley had plotted to open the door to Purgatory. A skittering, shrieking part of him tried to make him face what had happened here and what he had done on Heaven and Earth while infused with all those souls…

No, this was no time for _that_. Besides, there was a very fascinating jar right over there that needed close observation.

"You are not the Sisko."

The seraph swiveled around and saw Crowley. He was wearing his butcher's apron spattered with blood. A most, unCrowley-like expression of focused curiosity sat on his face. The portion of Castiel that clung to coherent thought looked at King of Hell and saw something that was _not_ a demonic being. What it was exactly couldn't be determined, but it was a lovely shade of blue nonetheless.

"Uh, no, I'm not a Sisko," the angel explained. "I am Castiel. If you need someone to facilitate communication between yourself and some colonies of Earth bees I can help you with that. Really, the queens are very amicable once they get to know you."

"This one is broken," said Sam Winchester. They were in Bobby Singer's house of all places. "Its thoughts do not fit properly together."

"It is not a human," said Bobby from behind. The two visages of his friends made Castiel slightly uneasy. It was, however, very nice to see them again.

"No, but you're not Sam and you're not Bobby. I'm glad we have that all straightened out because, frankly, I was getting confused."

"This is a joke," said Lucifer. Castiel was standing in a circle of burning holy oil in Carthage, Missouri.

"I believe the Sisko would have called this 'sarcasm,'" said Meg as she circled around from behind.

"No, I really _was_ getting confused. It is very nice to meet you, whatever you are. Do you like board games?"

"He did something here," said Crowley in the basement. "Something he doesn't want to remember. Something he doesn't want to comprehend."

Castiel stared at the wall. The not-Crowley looked at it too, then gestured at himself. "You betrayed this one for your own gains, did you not?"

The seraph was silent for a moment as he remembered the demon's outrage. "I thought it was the right thing," he whispered. "I was just trying to stop a _war_."

"Yes, war," said not-Sam at the house. "Your kind was killing one another over a disagreement. The Sisko told us of the consequences of this thing. It stops the flow of those who live in linear time."

"But you blame yourself for this one's death," said not-Bobby, "even though it was _after_ the war. Because what you did let the perpetrators escape."

"It called itself Dick," said the not-Dick Roman. They were in the laboratory, seconds before Dean would stab the leviathan and send them hurtling forward in time. "It stopped the linear flow for the Bobby."

"This one thought the designation was humorous," said not-Dean. "I do not think we understand why. I do not think _you_ understand why."

"Why are you showing me these things?" Castiel demanded.

"We are not," said not-Kevin. "You bring us where you wish us to go."

The seraph's breath caught. He was standing in Heaven, his favorite place: the eternal Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man. Except this was no longer a peaceful meadow; it was an abattoir strewn with the bodies of his brothers and sisters and the black burns of their wings. "No. _Please_ , no."

"You exist here," said not-Dean. "The Sisko existed in a moment as well. It was a moment that gave him great pain."

Castiel mashed his hands into his eyes, trying as hard as he could not to see what he had wrought in his madness. "I can't… I can't…"

"Are you not a being of linear time?" asked Lucifer in Carthage. "The Sisko said that you sort learn from your past. Did you not learn from this moment that your arrogance could cause misfortune?"

"There were two that died because your brother trapped you here," said not-Meg. "Because you thought it best to do something else than what had been planned."

"But then you helped put him back in his Cage," said not-Adam. They were in Stull Cemetery moments before Castiel had immolated Michael. "Perhaps this is why you did not learn. You felt you had corrected your error."

"And what is an ass-butt?" asked not-Bobby.

"Was the Sisko wrong?" asked not-Dean. Castiel's breath caught at the sight of his murdered brethren. "Do all linear beings not learn from their existence?"

"I learned," the seraph said hoarsely. He collapsed to his knees. "I only wanted to stop a war. I-I-I just didn't know… I didn't _want_ to know what I did to Heaven." Castiel beseeched the sky. "Father, why didn't you just let me stay dead?"

"This one is becoming even more broken," said not-Bobby in his house.

"Perhaps it is because he is not like the Sisko?" asked not-Sam. "Or the Bajor?"

The wormhole aliens looked around in disappointment. The Castiel was gone. "I did not know the linear beings could do that," remarked not-Bobby.


	4. Chapter 4

7/16/2016 - I've discovered that when a four year old has bug bites, she's not going back to sleep if you don't do anything, even if it's 3:30 in the morning.

I had a little issue with this chapter only because I became obsessed with finding out whether or not there were toilets in the holding cells. I mean, did they just leave piles of poop everywhere or was there a chute or a pull out drawer or what? I didn't find an answer. -_-

Thank you **princessbinas** and **Merideth Troy** for the reviews!

* * *

Bored bored _bored_ bored bored.

It was bad enough that they'd left him in this bare cell without anything to eat or drink, they hadn't even offered a magazine or a television or _anything_. Just a whole bunch of blank walls. Dean spent an hour using his finger to draw obscene pictures from memory onto the barrier, at least in stick-figure figure form, like he used to do with Sammy and a gust of breath on the windows of the Impala. It was really hard to illustrate the reverse cowgirl with this technique but he managed.

Dean then began singing, badly, every single song from his tape deck at the top of his lungs. He decided to go through the band names alphabetically. The hunter was at K for Kansas when the Security Chief Thing burst back in to tell him to shut up or he would force the doctor to administer a sedative to save their sanity. Dean presented him with his middle finger but decided not to push the issue; he was fairly certain the guy didn't threaten idly.

Now he had nothing to do and nothing to entertain himself other than… himself. The hunter was tempted to give the Chief a show but ultimately decided to maintain his dignity.

Just as Dean was about to start in on "Dust in the Wind" (he was at the point where being sedated was better than being bored), Castiel was suddenly sitting beside him. The hunter started, then closed his eyes in exasperation. "The hell, Cass," he growled, "where did you go?"

The seraph was uncharacteristically silent. If Dean didn't know better, he would have thought his friend was close to tears. "Yo. Cass," said the hunter, waving a hand in front of the angel's eyes. "Hello?"

"Dean," Castiel answered quietly. "I lied when I said I couldn't get us back."

" _What_?" Dean fought the urge to punch the angel right in the nose.

"I could do it. Go back in time and across the universe."

"Wait, what?"

"It would take all my Grace. Everything I have. But _you_ would be home and that's what matters."

The hunter was completely stupefied. It wasn't Castiel's offer, which was astonishing in and of itself. The proposal meant that the seraph was definitive in his assessment that they were actually in the _future_ fifty point three light years away from home.

The paralyzing realization that this _wasn't_ a hallucination started to settle in. Dean tested denial once again by mentally cataloguing his experiences since their arrival. The doctor had been excited to see historically accurate clothing. The chief security thing knew his entire criminal record. The chief security thing also told him what had happened to Sam and Kevin. The poor Prophet had died, most likely at Crowley's hands. Sammy had married, finished college, had children, and had died in a perfectly standard manner about _three hundred years ago_.

Everyone and everything he had known was gone.

 _His brother_ was dead.

And the only way to go back was to allow his best friend to _kill himself_.

"Fuck," whispered Dean. He stood up and gripped his hair in both hands. " _Fuck_!" His foot dented a hole in the wall. " _FUCK_!"

* * *

"Uh, sir…?"

Odo didn't bother interrupting his scan of the latest stream of wanted intergalactic felons to look over to the Bajoran deputy. He was quite certain he'd seen the human smuggler at the bottom of the list in Quark's just yesterday. "What is it?" he queried absentmindedly.

"I think the prisoner is destroying his holding cell."

* * *

Dr. Bashir rushed into the brig with his portable kit and was astonished to see how much damage Mr. Winchester had inflicted. There were several significant dents in the walls, some of them with spatters of blood, and the skin on the man's knuckles was split. The time traveler was now sitting disconsolately on the ground, his wrists on his knees and his head lowered.

"He won't let me heal him," Castiel said worriedly.

The doctor jumped and looked back and forth from Odo to the second time traveler. "What? When? How?"

"I don't know, doctor," the shapeshifter replied. "He wasn't there fifteen minutes ago."

Two of the Bajoran deputies were at hand, phasers ready, as Odo lowered the force field. Neither of the occupants stirred as Bashir hurried in to inspect his patient. "Lacerations, broken fingers, broken knuckles," listed the doctor. "I'll need to take him to the infirmary."

"Hey, doc," Mr. Winchester muttered. "What're they going to do with me?"

The dejection in his voice, so different than the trade between fury and blitheness the day before, filled Bashir with pity. Apparently whatever uncertainty the man once had regarding his situation was now gone. "I don't know," the doctor said gently. "The crimes you committed were very long ago. If they do intend to prosecute and you had good counsel I don't believe there'd be any reason for punishment."

"Dean," began Castiel, pleadingly.

"No, Cass," the man replied. "I can't let you do that."

"But–"

"I said _no_ , Cass."

"Do what?" asked the doctor.

"He won't let me take him back," Castiel explained sadly. "It will expend all of my Grace and he _will not let me die_."

"Your… Grace?"

The man in the coat looked at the doctor tiredly. "I am an angel of the Lord. My Grace is my celestial power."

"What is he talking about, doctor?" Odo queried. "Which lord? What is this 'celestial power' nonsense?"

Bashir hesitated, torn between disbelief and fascination. "I believe he's referring to an old Earth religion: Judeo-Christianity," he answered. "But that's not important right now. What _is_ important is getting Mr. Winchester out of here so that I can fix his hands." The doctor pulled at the man's arm and led him from the cell.

Odo reactivated the force field and looked sternly at Castiel. "Are you going to give me any trouble?"

"No. I will remain here."

"Good." The Constable gestured at one of his deputies. "You. Accompany the doctor and watch over the prisoner."

"Yes sir," she replied.

Bashir was alarmed at how listless the time traveler seemed. The doctor couldn't possibly fathom the depth of psychological trauma of knowing all you'd ever loved and known was gone forever. Compounded with the fact that the last remnant of his old life would have to die to restore everything must be devastating.

If left to his own devices, Bashir was fairly certain that Mr. Winchester would drown himself in drink. The state of his liver spoke of a life where overindulgence in alcohol was probably a regular occurrence. He was certainly no psychiatrist, but there was something he wanted to try. It was, however, guaranteed to make the Constable very, very unhappy.

* * *

"You want to _what_?" Commander Sisko asked incredulously.

"Let him walk about," answered Dr. Bashir. "Under escort, of course, but I don't think it will do him any good to be sitting in a cell."

Sisko grimaced as he pictured the apoplexy his Chief of Security was going to have. "Why should I even consider such a thing? From what we've seen so far, Dean Winchester's temperament could cause a great deal of trouble. That's not including the sort of criminal charges that had been brought against him. Now you're proposing to let a possible psychopath wander around my station?"

"That's the thing," the doctor replied vehemently. "I believe there might be some merit in what he told Odo; that there are reasonable explanations for what happened. He _may_ have some psychopathic or sociopathic _tendencies_ , but the fact that he wouldn't let his friend kill himself to bring him home contradicts either of those diagnoses."

"How so?"

"If he were a psychopath, he would have probably reacted a lot worse when Castiel told him that he had lied about bringing him home. If he were a sociopath, he probably would have agreed to the plan as soon as it was presented regardless of the consequences. Instead, Mr. Winchester was insistent that the, um… _angel_ not follow through."

"That's another thing," Sisko said curiously, "he called himself an 'angel of the Lord'?"

"It's what he believes anyways."

Commander Sisko took a moment for himself. His father, Joseph, had been a Protestant but only in the sense that he'd gone to church for weddings and funerals and the like, and had prayed when he deemed it necessary. As a result, Benjamin had a general knowledge of God, Heaven, and Hell, but didn't really believe one way or the other.

Religion was already playing a difficult role in Sisko's life, what with Kai Opaka's insistence that he was Bajor's long foreseen Emissary, and the upheaval that had erupted following her entrapment on a Gamma Quadrant moon. Some of the Bajorans were offended that the Emissary wasn't one of them; others made the Commander uncomfortable with deferential public displays. He wasn't sure what he would do if _human_ fanatics flocked to the station to behold the representative of their Lord.

"Let's keep this Castiel's supposed origins a secret for now," he decided. "Make sure that Odo and his deputies understand as well."

"All right. What about Mr. Winchester?"

Sisko sighed. "Let me figure out who would be best to act as his guide."

* * *

Dean sat on the medical cot with his hands throbbing mercilessly. He refused to ask the doctor for some relief as the pain was helping him focus on _forward_ rather than _backward_. Too much time with his own thoughts and he might be curled up in a ball and crying like a stupid baby.

There was no question of taking Castiel up on his offer. His father had already pulled the same sort of crap when he sold his soul to Azazel. The hunter was not about to let someone else repeat the error. At least the seraph was no longer obsessing about pacifism and bees. _Especially_ the bees.

Time to take stock. Mourning Sammy would have to come later. Dean had very little in the way of marketable skills other than repair, but he really doubted that there were cars in space. He felt a moment's pang for his Baby. Any construction that was being done was probably handled by robots or something anyways.

The fact that most of the people he'd seen wore similar clothing made it likely there was some sort of military organization about. Maybe he could enlist.

 _That_ had him snorting to himself. Yes sir! No sir! May I lick your boots, sir! Not happening.

Maybe there were still hunters. If humans were wandering about most likely there were also vampires and werewolves and shifters. Maybe even demons. Maybe there were some new alien supernatural monsters out there he hadn't even heard of. He could get a ship and be Dean Winchester, Intergalactic Hunter.

He was picturing himself in Boba Fett armor when a woman in blue and black entered the room. A very _attractive_ woman, even with the leopard spots. She gave him a friendly, gentle smile. If the lady turned out to be a psychiatrist, Dean swore to do his best to make sure her feminine sensibilities were as offended as possible.

"I am Lieutenant Commander Jadzia Dax," she said amiably. "You may call me Jadzia."

"Jadzia, huh?" Dean answered suspiciously. "You here to head shrink me? 'Cuz if you are, just warning you that it is _all_ kinds of fucked up in here."

The woman blinked. "Your twenty-first century colloquialisms aren't translating very well."

"By who?"

Jadzia walked closer to the wall and pointed at one of the orange streams of letters. "Our computers are equipped with universal translators for the sake of the hundreds of different dialects spoken across the galaxy. I don't believe anyone has used the term for copulation as you do for at least two hundred years."

"Oh good. Are there new bad words I need to learn?"

The woman chortled a little and said, "Perhaps a few in Klingon I can share with you. Anyways, I'm not here for a psychological evaluation. I'm here to start getting you acclimated to the twenty-fourth century."

Dean hesitated. He _was_ eager to try and make himself comfortable but he had this feeling that he was being assigned a babysitter. "Can't I just go do that on my own? Not as if I can, you know, leave the place."

"I think it would be best if you had someone along to explain some things. There are some species on the station that are, well, a little _touchy_."

"You mean I say the wrong thing and they blow my head off."

"Precisely."

That smile of hers had never left her face. It was unnerving. Jadzia was either an airhead or she was incredibly zen. He wondered how many of her buttons he'd have to push before the woman snapped. It had taken only five minutes of leering and suggestive commentary to send that security guard packing.

"Let me guess," he said as he hopped off the bed, "you're not one of those touchy alien things."

"No. My people are called the Trill."

"So if someone's got the spotty things they're a Trill?"

"Yes. There's more, but I think we'll save it for later."

Dean decided to test the waters. "Do the spots go all the way down?" he asked with a smirk.

Jadzia gave him a smoldering look that had his libido making a preliminary jump for joy. "Mr. Winchester," she purred, "We haven't known each other long enough for me to answer that. _Yet_."

All right, so maybe the future wasn't going to be so bad after all.

* * *

Penance. He had to do penance.

Castiel sat on the bench and tried to figure out how. Another angel would know, but he was deeply afraid of attempting to contact his brothers and sisters. It wasn't so much that they might react badly; whatever they decided to do with him would be well deserved. He was fearful that there wouldn't be a response at all, that whatever he had done had irrevocably undone the structure of Heaven.

Three hundred and fifty eight years after Castiel had immolated Raphael's followers, his brethren might all be dead.

There was a small comfort in knowing that his abilities were intact. It meant Heaven wasn't completely obliterated and that some vestige of celestial power remained. Whether or not it meant that there were actually angels up there and not just billions of souls wasn't something the seraph could determine without announcing his presence. For now, he would remain alone and try to determine his punishment.

One of the "Bajorans" (those with the nose ridges and spiritual ear decor) came in bearing a tray of food. "No thank you," Castiel told him. "I do not eat."

"Not my concern," the deputy told him as he placed his burden on the floor. He blinked and his eyes filmed over in black. "I'm just here to make sure my King knows there's an angel in the Alpha Quadrant."


	5. Chapter 5

7/19/2016 - I'm actually having a hard time deciding exactly what Dean would do in the future, occupation wise. If anyone has an idea feel free! In the meantime I'm going to pretend he's going to be Boba Fett.

Also having a hard time with the computer's voice in that my brain keeps substituting Sigourney Weaver for Majel Barrett-Roddenberry. Galaxy Quest and Wall-E have ruined me.

Thanks **princessbinas** for the review! And thank all the people who are following!

* * *

Jadzia thought Dean Winchester was absolutely fascinating.

As they walked through the Promenade letting the man drink in the sights, she reflected on what she had seen of him in the last hour. They had made abbreviated tours of both the Docking Ring and the Habitat Ring, but most of the time had been spent on the area that was the hub of life on Deep Space 9. It was obvious that Quark's was where he wanted to linger, but after seeing the gleam in the proprietor's eye she decided to just let him observe it from the outside. Who knows what the Ferengi had in mind.

Sisko's reasoning for assigning her this task was based firstly on the fact that he knew Dax could handle herself if the time traveler decided to be violent. After finding out that Mr. Winchester had pushed the tempers of the Constable and two of his male deputies, then made inappropriately sexual overtures to one of his female deputies, the Commander had also added that he didn't think anyone else would have the patience to be in the man's presence for that long.

Dax didn't think that either Odo or Commander Sisko had gotten the correct assessment of the man. Other than ogling at the dabo girls and making a few flirtatious remarks Mr. Winchester had refrained from licentious behavior. Jadzia was fairly certain that he had _purposely_ irritated the security officers because of what they represented.

She was also surprised to realize that the man was assessing the people and the environment for _threats_. Dax's former host, Tobias, had done the same after being in scores of battles. Except as far as she knew, the era in which Mr. Winchester originated was prior to the constant conflict that defined both the Eugenics War and the Earth World War III. There had been areas of the planet that had been engulfed in centralized bloodshed during the beginning of the twenty first century, but the United States of America was not one of those places. It made for an intriguing puzzle.

Mr. Winchester also made an astute observation after a short conversation with Garak. "That ain't no tailor."

"Excuse me?"

"He ain't no tailor. He's definitely a con man or something."

"How do you know?"

"Takes one to know one."

To which she couldn't form a response.

The compromise that Commander Sisko made with Odo to let Mr. Winchester wander about was that the Commander would need to interview the time traveler once the tour was done. Dax believed that the Constable was hoping that between Sisko and her a properly damning assessment would be given and Odo would be free to pursue prosecution. After all, on Earth there was no statute of limitations on murder.

When Dax explained where the final leg of the journey was to go Mr. Winchester gave an enormous sigh. "Can we at least get a burger before you kick me out the airlock?"

"Burger…?"

"Two buns, meat, hopefully some bacon and cheese. And a beer. Perfect meal."

Jadzia gave him a smile. "Come on, I'll show you the Replimat. You can order one for me, too."

"Awesome. My kinda girl."

* * *

Just like the one he'd had the night before, the burger Dean got from the Replimat was delicious, but something about it was just off. He figured it was because the thing wasn't actually _cooked_ ; it was _made_. Jadzia had torn into hers with a relish and informed him that she would add it to her repertoire of meals.

They were now stepping off the elevator to what Jadzia had called "Ops." To Dean the whole thing looked like a bunch of different people doing busywork on the screens that passed for computers. There was a combination of the nose-ridge people and what the Trill had called "Starfleet" personnel working in tangent to do whatever it was they were doing.

As they passed, the group watched him curiously. He took the opportunity to appreciate how extraordinarily form fitting their uniforms were. When the hunter's gaze lingered a bit too long on one woman wearing head to toe red, she narrowed her eyes and frowned deeply. Well, he had never really liked short hair anyways.

They entered a smallish room off to one side where a man in red and black sat behind a curved desk. Dean had never been enamored with authority, but he recognized someone who wasn't afraid to give orders. Once they had been given, this man would expect them to be obeyed.

The hunter smirked and plopped into the chair across from the Commander. He made himself comfortable as the man said, "So you're Dean Winchester."

He noticed that Jadzia was sitting in a corner of the office in one of a paired set of cushioned chairs. "That's me."

"I'm Commander Benjamin Sisko. Starfleet has put this station under my authority. Ultimately, since you arrived _here_ rather than somewhere else, I will be the one to decide your fate. Frankly, I'm rather inclined to send you back to your holding cell. Forgive me, but your criminal record makes you seem a little…"

"Fucked up?"

"An interesting way to put it, but yes."

"Uh, look," the hunter sighed as he wiped a hand down his face in exasperation, "like I told that Chief Security dude, there's reasons for all of those but I guarantee you that you're not gonna believe them."

"All right. Do me a favor and explain _one_."

Now Dean had a quandary. To tell the truth or not? _See, Benny_ , he thought. _Mind if I call you Benny? The first two were because of shifters. One was going around killing people's wives while disguised as their husbands. He ended up in my form and my brother and I ganked his ass. The other was offing bank employees and robbing their workplaces blind. This dude, Ronald Reznick, kinda tried to take things in his own hands and, whaddya know, shit hit the fan. Oh, and the last one, this is a kicker, those were two things called leviathan and they were wearing our faces. They were trying to flush us out by killing everything in their path.. And, goddamnit, they even had a replica of my Baby._

The only one that would make a lick of sense would be the bank incident. He hoped poor Ronald's shade would forgive him for throwing him under the bus. "Okay, I didn't rob a bank. This dude Ronald figured that his boss was a man-droid and locked us all in there with a frigging automatic rifle. Only reason they think it was me was because I took the guy's side and tried to _not_ get people killed."

"And yet three people did die," Benjamin commented.

One had died because the shifter decided to take his form. The second was Ronald, who just wouldn't _listen_ and been sniped by the cops. The last was the shifter itself. "Hey man, I dunno about you but in my life _nothing_ ever goes according to plan."

The Commander actually smiled a little. "I believe I can relate."

Before the man could probe any further, Dean asked, "Chief Security Thing, what's his deal? Jadzia's been telling me about Cardashians…"

"Cardassians," the Trill corrected.

"BaJordans…"

"Bajorans."

"And those dudes with big ears, something like, uh," Dean snapped his fingers trying to remember, "Ferfungus?"

"Ferengi."

"Yeah, those. But ain't nothing else like _him_."

"I believe you're referring to Constable Odo," extrapolated the Commander. "As far as we know, he is the only one of his species. We call him a shapeshifter."

Dean tensed and began trying to recall if anywhere Jadzia had taken him had silver in one form or another. "Really."

"Yes. The Constable can take the form of inanimate objects when necessary. It's a remarkable ability and one that we've yet to see duplicated."

Okay _that_ didn't make any sense. "What, like a chair?"

"Yes. Or a cup, or a wall panel, or a table. It's made him very effective in his job."

Paranoid, the hunter started looking at everything in the room. His panic made Jadzia start chuckling. "Not to worry, Mr. Winchester," the Trill assured him. "Constable Odo knows when not to be spying on our guests."

"Yeah, okay," Dean responded disbelievingly. He then turned his attention to the Commander. "So now what?"

Benjamin sighed. "For now you will return to the quarters we gave you the first night. You will not be allowed to wander freely until we've had a chance to evaluate your situation. I'm still awaiting a response from Starfleet regarding whether or not to send you back to Earth to face prosecution."

The hunter imagined returning home to find the Impala in a museum and monuments to Sam decorating public parks. Then the last bit of what the Commander said hit him. "Wait, what? Prosecution for what?"

"There are no statute of limitations for murder on Earth, and seeing as how that's where you're originally from…"

"Bullshit," Dean snarled. "They're gonna drag up a three hundred and fifty year old charge and, what, parade me through the streets?"

"There are those within the Federation that believe justice is justice no matter how ancient the crime. If you ever want to return home, it would be best to face them sooner rather than later."

"Freakin' great," the hunter moaned. "What if I _don't_ want to return home?"

Jadzia and Benjamin exchanged a meaningful look that was far more intimate than what it would have been if they were only associates. Dean wondered if they were a couple. No competing with the leader of an entire space station then. Well, there were those "boba girls" he'd yet to really meet…

"Why wouldn't you want to go home?" the Trill asked gently.

 _Uh, let's see. Well, there's those three murder charges that some wackos will apparently want to make me pay for. There's the fact that my Baby's probably been recycled for robot parts. Oh yeah, let's not forget that it ain't my home no more. Guarantee you that there's not a single Biggerson's left on the planet._

Dean forwent addressing the bigger reason that he really didn't want to see Earth again. It was one thing to be here where everything was foreign and new no matter how it was spun. It would be another to go to somewhere that had been one way not two days ago and was now something completely different. If he had to go to Bobby's cabin where he and Sam had been holed up and find nothing but rotted timbers and buried artifacts Dean thought he'd probably want to shoot himself in the head.

He just wasn't ready to really, _truly_ face the fact that his brother was gone.

"What am I supposed to do there?" he said offhandedly. "There ain't nothing I'm suited for–" except hunting, "–and there ain't no one left that I know."

"Very well," Benjamin replied. The doors behind them swished open and one of the Bajoran brown-suits entered. "Please escort Mr. Winchester back to his quarters."

"Very good, Commander."

The hunter stood up to follow. He stopped at the entryway for a moment. "Can I ask one thing from you guys though?"

"Certainly."

"Stop calling me freaking 'Mr. Winchester.' You guys keep making me feel like I'm seventy years old."

The Commander gave him an amused smile. "Very well, Dean."

* * *

The doors slid shut on the time traveler and his escort. Sisko lifted both his eyebrows when Dax gave him an exasperated look. " _Really_ , Benjamin," she chided, "'still waiting on Starfleet'? Unless subspace communications have gone offline or _everyone's_ been unavailable since Dean arrived…"

"All right, old man," he chuckled, "I lied. In fact, there's already a delegation heading here. They should arrive in about fourteen days. They have a leading scholar on the twenty-first century with them." The Commander sighed as he added, "They're also sending a panel to do an inquest regarding Mr. Winchester's… _Dean's_ criminal record."

"Then why didn't you just tell him?"

"Because the man keeps claiming there were _reasons_ for his actions. He's not outright denying them or claiming innocence; he obviously thinks that whatever occurred happened either because of misfortune or extenuating circumstances. Not the sort of attitude you would expect from a cold-blooded killer."

Jadzia made a sound in her throat that Sisko recognized from his time with Curzon. "Okay, old man," the Commander said with mock severity, "spit it out."

"I don't disagree with you," she replied carefully, "but there's something about him that reminds me of a soldier that's been on the battlefield far too long. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely of the opinion that Dean isn't a _murderer_ , but I don't think we should discount the possibility that he's a _killer_."

Confused, Sisko asked, "What's the difference?"

"Their reasons," Dax clarified. "In my opinion, if he's a _murderer_ then he's taken lives without cause or conscience and we would be obligated to make him pay for his crimes. If he's a _killer_ , then he's more like, well, a Starfleet officer."

"Oh?"

The Trill smiled. "Both you and I know how to kill, Benjamin. Everyone who goes through Starfleet goes through combat training. But we would have to be pushed to it, and we certainly wouldn't enjoy it.

"In other words, the difference is _everything_."

* * *

Now that he knew how they worked, Dean had fun experimenting with the replicator in his room. They had disabled his ability to make anything remotely resembling a weapon, but he managed to get the thing to make him a set of clothes that made him feel more comfortable than the Jedi robes they'd given him in the infirmary. He made several sets of jeans, shirts, and socks and two pairs of logger boots.

Then, after a short conversation with Compy, he had AC/DC blaring through wherever the speakers were. He assumed that the Trill meant for him to use the computer to find out what had happened since the twenty-first century, but he really didn't want to bother. War, blah blah, another war, blah blah, space ships and aliens and _boom_ here they were.

He _did_ contemplate a little more about what he could do in the future. Dean knew he was good with his hands, at least in terms of mechanics, but the bleeping blooping computers were tied to everything. Plus, what he was and what he knew were both tied to _hunting_. However, his calling had never paid the bills, and despite the fact that Jadzia said that Earth had moved beyond the need for hard currency he was fairly certain he'd seen some kind of gold being flipped around in that bar.

Well, in the meantime there was nothing else to do but wait to see about the whole criminal charges prosecution thing. Might as well enjoy the limitless food and some good music until someone fetched him for another walkabout.

Dean had been playing air-guitar to Highway to Hell while dancing around the room when Cass popped in. The two of them collided with one another and the hunter ended up on the floor. Castiel, of course, remained standing there, unruffled.

"Computer," Dean commanded irritably, "shut the goddam music off." As soon as it was silent, he picked himself off the floor while grumbling, "The _hell_ , Cass! Knock next time!"

"Dean," the angel said worriedly, "there are demons here."

" _What_?"

"One of the Bajorans is possessed. He also told me he was going to tell his _King_ there was an angel here."

"Are you freaking _kidding me_?" Dean shouted. "Three hundred and fifty fucking years in the future and _Crowley_ is still pulling shit?"

"It might not be Crowley. It might be someone else who's taken up the mantle."

"Yeah, you really believe that?"

"No."

For the first time, the hunter noticed that his friend was back to his old suit and tie underneath his trenchcoat. "Hey, man. You feeling better?"

"The Prophets," the seraph replied miserably, "they gave me clarity. I still have not decided on something, but my mind is far better than it was."

"Well, good 'cuz it's not as if we got angel blades or the demon killing knife. You're gonna have to smite him. I'm gonna prepare some holy water and then we can go trap the son of a bitch."

"I will return to my cell. I still need to decide."

"Decide what?" Dean queried, baffled.

"You would not let me die to bring you home. I will need to find another way to do penance."

"Shit," the hunter replied as he scrubbed the back of his head, aggravated. "Hey, look man, what do you honestly think you gotta punish yourself for?"

Despondent, Castiel looked down at the ground. "I conspired with a demon. I murdered dozens of my brethren. I broke your brother's wall and drove him insane. I released the leviathan onto the world and they killed Bobby Singer. And it is because of those leviathan that we are stuck here. It was my ego, my _arrogance_ that caused all this."

Dean sighed. Everything Castiel was saying was the truth, and the hunter was still angry about what the angel had done to his brother. And yet…

"Look, man. If you think you gotta punish yourself then whatever, I ain't stoppin' you. But just remember that you're my friend, my _family_ , and you're the only one I got left."

The seraph closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping. Then he disappeared. The hunter dearly hoped that Castiel wouldn't do something stupid, but, well, it was _Cass_ and his track record so far wasn't the best.

In the meantime, Dean had to spend some quality time with Compy. Time to figure out if a replicated rosary would actually be holy enough to make some good ol' fashioned demon repellent.


	6. Chapter 6

7/21/2016 - I'm slowly but surely getting into the actual events of DS9: 2.19 but I feel like there's no rush. Also, I think I've decided on how Dean will fit in on the station but I have to hammer out some details.

I think I actually made it through a whole chapter without swearing! Now that I've written that sentence I feel like I need to go through it again and see if I can fit a four letter word in there somewhere.

Reviews or critiques are always welcome!

* * *

Odo was in the middle of antagonizing Quark over the smuggler when a deputy informed him that Castiel was no longer in his cell. The Constable hurried back to the security office only to find out that the "angel" had returned. Along with the Bajoran on duty, Odo played and replayed the footage over and over and just couldn't figure out what had happened. One moment he was there, the next he wasn't, and then several minutes later he was there again. The Constable then stomped into the brig and demanded an explanation. "I thought you told me you were going to _stay put_!"

"I had something very important to tell Dean Winchester," Castiel explained.

"Next time, just _ask_ to have him sent _here_ ," the Constable reprimanded angrily.

"I promise," he replied blithely. "Could you please tell me the name of the Bajoran who brought me a meal?"

That was a strange non-sequitur. "I believe that was Deputy Varas. Why?"

Castiel gave him a nervous smile. "Um. Well. He was so, uh, _gracious_ in his task that it-it would be nice for Dean to meet him."

Bemused at his prisoner's attempt to lie convincingly, Odo merely replied, "All right," before heading back to the other room and sitting at his desk. He picked up his PADD and read over the research he had done the previous night.

Whoever (or whatever) this Castiel was there was absolutely nothing under the name in Earth's historical archives, at least those that had survived the wars of the twenty-first century. Fingerprints brought up a human named Jimmy Novak who had disappeared from his home sometime in 2008. The remains of his wife Amelia had been discovered in 2015, strangely emaciated, while his daughter Claire had several run-ins with the law for petty theft before following in her father's footsteps. Oddly, the Novaks had absolutely no previous criminal record prior to Jimmy vanishing, not so much as a vehicular excessive speed fine.

If Castiel was Jimmy Novak, it might explain the man's disappearance. Perhaps it was some sort of personality disorder. Odo had noticed that there were those who showed one face to a particular group of people and an entirely different one to another group of people. Like how Dr. Bashir was professional and intelligent while he worked in the infirmary, then turned into a bumbling idiot in front of an attractive female.

But that didn't make any sense. If Novak had some sort of multiple personality then Novak _himself_ would have shown up at some time. However, there was a four year gap of _nothing_ between his disappearance and the year Mr. Winchester claimed they had come from.

Then there was this angel nonsense. According to the computer, "angels" were some sort of mythical flying humans that either warred incessantly or watched over Earthlings so that they didn't stub their toes. Endowed with great power and knowledge, they apparently approached those who had some sort of extraordinary trait and delivered messages from their (often very angry) deity. It all sounded like they were supposed to be Prophets with wings, but as far as Odo could tell Mr. Winchester was nothing special (other than his blatant disregard for the law) and the other time traveler had no feathers.

Then the Constable jerked upright. In his fury over the man's vanishing act he forgot to address one simple detail.

When and where had Castiel gotten _new clothing_?

* * *

Castiel stepped warily out from his cell. The Chief of Security was standing with his hands behind his back while two similarly dressed Bajorans trained their weapons at him. The seraph was fairly certain that the guns wouldn't harm him, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"I have decided to let you wander about somewhat freely," the Chief said. He held out his right hand and added, "Provided you wear _this_ at all times."

In his palm lay a small, brass oval pin which echoed the ones on all of the others' right breast. Castiel picked it up and looked at it from all possible angles. He realized it was more than just decor; there were tiny electronic parts imbedded in various places whose function he couldn't begin to fathom. "What is this and why am I to wear it?" he asked.

"It's called a combadge," the Chief replied. "As for what it is, for right now all you need to know is that it will let me find you wherever you are on the station since, apparently, our holding cells are unable to keep you in place. If you take it off, or if you leave Deep Space 9, Mr. Winchester will be returned to this cell pending your return to good behavior."

Castiel recalled how Dean and Sam had often found one another through the GPS on their cell phones. "I see," he acknowledged as he put the "combadge" on his right lapel. Once it was done, he gratefully said, "Thank you, Chief of Security."

"Odo would be fine."

"Thank you, Odo. I vow not to remove this."

With a gesture from the Chief, the Bajorans lowered their weapons and allowed Castiel to walk out of the brig. He decided against immediately joining Dean in his quarters in favor of exploring the interior of the space station. Perhaps he would be inspired by circumstances to formulate a proper penance. After that, the two of them could trap Deputy Varas and find out what the demon knew.

After about a minute of walking around, the seraph realized he was getting an abnormal amount of stares. Some of them glanced confusedly back and forth from the pin at his lapel to his face, others seemed to be taking him in, top to bottom, out of curiosity. He did notice that his clothing entirely out of place, but he resisted changing it. Castiel felt the concession would dishonor the memory of his vessel's original soul, Jimmy Novak.

He flew to the second floor and startled a young boy and his small, large eared friend who were sitting with their legs hanging over the side of a walkway. The two of them gaped.

"Excuse me," apologized Castiel.

"Nog!" the human boy whispered excitedly. "I think this is that time traveler dad was talking about! I recognize his clothing from history class."

"The ones that he explicitly told you _not_ to tell me about?" the one called Nog asked, annoyed.

"If your father asked you not to speak of me then it would be best not to do so," chided the seraph.

"That's okay," the boy assured him confidently, "he won't tell. _Right, Nog?_ "

"Fine, fine, I won't."

"See?"

Castiel couldn't help being intrigued by the two innocents and decided to sit next to the human boy on the floor. There were so few opportunities during his time away from Heaven for the angel to interact with children. He thought it best to see what would happen and whether or not they offered different insights than their adult counterparts.

The boy immediately introduced himself. "I'm Jake and this is Nog. What's your name?"

"I am Castiel."

Nog tested the name through his rather haphazard formation of teeth. "Cass-tee-el?"

"If it is easier, you may call me Cass."

"Yes," Nog replied with a laugh. "Thank you, Cass!"

The seraph peered at the smaller boy. "Might I ask, where have you come from? You are not like any human or monster I have ever seen."

The large-eared boy glowered, then tapped Jake on the shoulder to ask, "Did he just call me a monster?"

"Time-traveler," Jake reminded his friend, "before First Contact? All they used to see were other humans."

"This is not so," Castiel corrected. "In fact, my friends and I saw many beings that were not human."

"Really? Like what?" the young pair wondered excitedly.

"Well, there were demons and angels, vampires, shapeshifters, werewolves, djinn–I'm sorry, does my list frighten you?" the angel queried when he noticed that the two boys had begun to shift uncomfortably, their eyes growing wide. "I am sorry, I do not see children too often. I must have said something that was inappropriate." He sighed and stared glumly at the floor below as he tried to figure out what it was.

"Jake," Nog whispered. He was trying to be quiet but didn't know how well the seraph could hear. "You did not tell me that hu-mahns from the twenty-first century were _insane_."

"They were not," Castiel responded helpfully, "but I am not human. I am an angel."

"Uh, ok," Jake said while looking at Castiel's back. "Then where are your wings?"

"They are there. I do not believe the other residents would be very happy if I allowed them to be shown."

"Why not?" Nog asked eagerly. "If I had wings, I could fly easily from one end of the bar to the other! Imagine how much quicker I could be done with my work."

"My wings will only show if I access my full strength. This tends to conflict with currents of electricity and unfortunately this entire place seems to be dependent on electricity."

The two boys had shifted from wary to entranced. "Wow," they murmured. "They must be _awesome_ ," added Jake.

"Yes, I feel they are," Castiel agreed smugly. Then he remembered where an excess of pride had gotten him and he deflated. The seraph rested his head on the metal railing and resumed brooding.

"Are you okay?" Jake inquired.

"None of you will be 'okay' if you don't stop sitting here," admonished Odo as he stood behind them. The trio stood up hastily and the Security Chief gave each one of them the same glare. He looked back and forth from Jake to Nog and lectured, "How many times have I told you not to sit here? I'm tired of fielding complaints that there are children in danger on the Promenade. One of these days you _will_ fall over the side and then what would your fathers say?"

"I assure you they were in no danger," Castiel ventured.

Odo's eyes narrowed at him. "Forgive me if I'm not exactly confident in your ability to assess the situation, especially when the Commander's son is in question."

The seraph blinked when Jake began to squirm. He blinked again when Odo sighed and said, "Perhaps I could get the three of you off my back if _you_ two will show _him_ around the station."

"I would be delighted, sir!" Nog replied obsequiously.

"Yeah, okay," came Jake's more muted response. He gave Castiel a smile. "That work for you?"

"Certainly."

* * *

So far so good. Compy was generous enough to provide Dean with paint and a brush and he had a devil's trap prepared in no time. He was disappointed to learn that aerosol cans were forbidden and had been for at least two hundred and fifty years so he had to settle for house paint. The only problem was that it had to go on the ground or risk dripping black all over the place.

Nobody had come to fetch him so far this morning, and that was fine. He cranked up some Metallica this time to cover his rearrangement of the furniture. Eventually the area rug covered the trap and the rest of the chairs and tables looked like they were in a natural setting. If anyone stuck their head in to complain, he would just say it was some twenty-first century nonsense to have the entrance covered for guests.

Now came the bigger problem: Dean had no idea which of the Bajorans was actually the demon. Cass did, and he was MIA. He started pacing restlessly.

The hunter was too full to eat and didn't want to be too inebriated to fight. Normally he was happy to spend his free time perusing various pornographic material, but Dean was iffy about what sort of magazine the computer might spit out (who knows what Busty Asian Beauties had turned into, maybe Gelatinous Robot Shinies) and he wasn't sure if the screens were being monitored. Last thing he wanted to do was explain to the Commander why he had been watching an obscene parody of Lord of the Rings.

A series of bloops sounded which Dean recognized as the "doorbell". He really hoped it was the Trill again. "Yeah, come in," he shouted.

One of the standard craggy-nosed guys in brown walked in. "Mr. Winchester," he stated, "I've been ordered to be your escort today."

"What happened to the hottie with the spots?"

"Lieutenant Commander Dax is seeing to matters in Ops. I could see if she's available later on…?"

"Nah, it's okay. Hold up, let me find my shoes."

The brown-suit walked in, ostensibly to help, then appeared to ram into an invisible barrier. Dean looked up from under the table where he had stashed his boots and grinned. "Well lookee what we got here."

The Bajoran blinked and his eyes went black. " _Hunter_ ," he uttered with distaste.

* * *

Odo frowned as he looked at the time. Deputy Varas should have checked in fifteen minutes ago. "Computer," he commanded, "what is the location of Varas Ket?"

"Deputy Varas is in the Habitat Ring, corridor H8, section 34."

Dean Winchester's quarters, far from his assigned duty of keeping an eye on the Cardassian freighter that was disembarking on Upper Pylon 1. The Constable frowned and recalled that this was the very deputy that had peaked Castiel's interest.

On instinct he hit his combadge and hailed Lieutenant Commander Dax. "Lieutenant, could you accompany me to Mr. Winchester's quarters? I'm afraid I may need a more _diplomatic_ hand to deal with him."

* * *

Jake was having far too much fun than he should have taking the angel about the station. Castiel was extraordinarily forthright and lingered at the oddest places. When the boy got home, he absolutely _had_ to write about this experience so that he wouldn't forget it.

At the Klingon Restaurant, Castiel insisted on listening to the singing through its conclusion. He then informed the chef that he didn't think his noodles were cooked as they were still moving. The Klingon roared with laughter and clapped the angel on the shoulder, insisting that he try a bite. Jake and Nog watched, revolted, as their charge took in a huge mouthful of _gagh_ , swallowed it, and said it was different to feel things die in his mouth. The chef laughed again, then made loud, hearty comparisons about eating the worms and being a warrior before Jake was able hustle them all away.

They tried to hurry by Quark's, but the early hour meant that the place was nearly empty and Nog's uncle could see quite clearly who was passing his establishment. When he spotted his nephew, Quark stomped towards them and pulled on the boy's ear. He admonished Nog harshly over potential dents in his profits from having a tardy employee and dragged him inside.

It was then that Jake realized they were being followed.

The boy glanced warily at the trio of Bajorans whose eyes were locked on the angel. Castiel was standing with his head slightly cocked as he observed Nog sullenly wiping down tables. "Why does he not merely leave his employment?" the angel asked. "It appears he suffers a great deal of abuse."

Jake sighed and explained, "Quark is his uncle and his dad is Rom, that guy over there. It's a Ferengi family thing. They've probably got a Rule of Acquisition that talks about kids and free labor or something."

"Do these Rules of Acquisition condone child slavery?"

"No no no," Jake denied hastily. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that the group of Bajorans had grown. "It's more like, you know, helping with the family business?"

"Ah, yes. I know of family business. Dean and Sam spoke of this often."

The boy tugged on the angel's sleeve. "Hey, Cass?" the boy queried nervously as one of the Bajorans started to approach. "Uh, let's go see the Observation Lounge. You can see the wormhole and almost the entire system from there."

"I would have thought the holes made by worms wouldn't be visible from space."

Jake's subsequent bemusement gave the Bajoran woman the opportunity to tug on Castiel's other arm. "Excuse me," she said excitedly, "are you the one who went to speak with the Prophets?"

The angel flinched. "Yes, I mean no. I mean, _they_ spoke to _me_ …"

"It's him!" the woman called excitedly to the others. "He's the one!"

Astonished, Jake was shoved out of the way as the Bajorans began clamoring for Castiel's attention. The boy's consternation grew as he saw the increasing panic in the angel's face.

They were all crying requests and inquiries at him at once. "What did they say?" "How did you get to them?" "Will you bring me next time?" "Please, ask them who they wish for the next Kai!" "Ask the Prophets if my brother is safe!" "Have they chosen a new Emissary?" "Why do they keep choosing humans and not Bajorans?" "Bless my son!"

Jake tried to shove his way through the growing crowd of worshippers to no avail. "Cass!" he tried to shout, waving his arms. Suddenly, a hand dropped onto his shoulder and he jumped. "What in the world is going on?" asked Dr. Bashir.

"I-I don't know! They seem to think Cass went to go see the Prophets."

"Well, he _said_ he was leaving for the wormhole but I didn't think he actually _went_. How could they have known–" The doctor cut himself off and sighed. "Filara. A nurse," he explained to Jake. "She was there when he said he was going to see their gods."

"Please," Castiel was saying, his voice laced with anxiety, "I have no knowledge other than what they told me. I do not wish to repeat the experience. _I do not want your worship_. Please let me through!"

"Come on," Dr. Bashir instructed and began shoving his way through the crowd. The Starfleet uniform was doing a far better job than anything the boy had done to get people out of the way.

Before they could reach the angel, all the Bajorans cried out in awe and fear. Jake and the doctor burst into the space where Castiel had been standing only to find it empty. "Damn," cursed Dr. Bashir. He turned to Jake. "Let's go. Your father will want to know about this."

* * *

 **Author's Note** : In regards to the Novaks, I'm going off of the assumption that Amelia was eventually consumed by the grigori (SPN 10.20) and that Claire was eventually the victim of Randy and his illicit dealings (SPN 10.9). It's a couple of sucky ways to die, but it's Supernatural; you kinda expect everyone to die in a sucky way.


	7. Chapter 7

7/20/2016 - I'm trying to decide whether or not to pit Castiel and Sisko against each other for the role of the Prophet. Maybe an all-out no-holds boxing match on a holosuite.

Started rewatching the Maquis episodes of DS9 and realized that the dude playing Hudson is just… awful.

Anyways, thanks **princessbinas** for the review! And thank all of you who are following!

* * *

Lacking anything to tie the demon with or to, Dean had to settle for keeping it loose in the trap. Occasionally, when the thing's commentary got too annoying, the hunter threw a cupful of holy water at him. To his relief, the computer generated rosary seemed to maintain the same holiness as the old fashioned kind and the demon responded appropriately each time. However, it seemed strange that the screams failed to attract any undue attention and Dean decided to venture a peek outside. There he beheld his two normal sentries, their throats slit.

No one had told him how to contact another person on the station (they sure as hell didn't give him a cell phone or a walkie-talkie), and he had faked law enforcement enough to know not to disturb the scene. Dean was forced to leave them where they lay. He figured he had maybe an hour before Constable Stick-Up-His-Butt decided to check in on his men. In the meantime, there was nothing else to do. The hunter sat impatiently, slouched in a chair staring at the stars, as he waited for Castiel.

"Never thought I'd see a _human_ hunter this close to the Cardassian empire," the demon said from his position kneeling on the floor, "much less a _Winchester_."

Dean slowly sat up straight. "How the hell do you know who I am?"

" _Please_. The meatsuit might be Bajoran but the original soul died on good ol' 1974 Earth."

"And no one's ganked you in all that time?"

"Not all of us are idiots."

"Coulda fooled me."

The demon chuckled. "Oh, _there's_ that famous wit. I've heard a lot about you. Apparently you were quite the bane on our kind until you so conveniently disappeared."

"Yeah, well, now you know what happened. Aren't _you_ just the lucky guy?"

A few minutes of silence passed. "Too bad you couldn't have been there for your brother," the creature sneered. "His end wasn't too pretty."

"What?"

"Let me guess, records said, 'myocardial infarction'?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Standard blabber for World War III. Lying to keep face." A sardonic grin split the Bajoran face. "Lot of nukes flying around those days. Millions were irradiated. Of course, the crumbling remnants of the United States wanted to hide the fact that they dropped a couple on their own soil."

"So, what, you saying he died of radiation poisoning?"

The demon sighed wistfully. "Those were the days. The slow deaths, the desperate people signing contracts left and right. Trust me, when Sam Winchester finally died, shitting and puking himself, all his loved ones missing or dead, he was _glad_ to go."

At seeing the stricken look on Dean's face, the thing laughed. The hunter immediately stood up and threw a glass of holy water in the demon's face. As he was howling and writhing on the floor, Castiel suddenly appeared. "Finally!" Dean huffed. "What the hell took you so long? And what's with the pin?"

The seraph was unusually rumpled. "I promised not to take it off," the seraph explained as he straightened his clothing and smoothed his hair.

"Dude. Why do you look like you've been mobbed by a bunch of teenyboppers?"

"Uh… There were women and men who were touching me. I mean, I don't _think_ any of them were teens, maybe one or two, but–"

"Okay okay _okay_!" Dean interjected. "I don't wanna know. You gonna take a look at the black-eyed alien here?"

The two of them focused on the demon. His bravado and deprecation had vanished in the face of the one thing on Deep Space 9 that could obliterate him. "An _angel_ ," he snarled. "Haven't seen one of you in decades."

"Why is a demon this far from Earth?" Castiel demanded.

"Why? Because I was ordered to come. Along with hundreds of others just like me. We've gone _intergalactic_."

"Wait," said Dean, "whaddya mean you haven't seen an angel in decades? They were all over the frigging place."

"Yeah, so? Haven't you caught up on your history, Winchester?"

"Other than finding out there was a World War _Three_ , no."

"Earth is almost a _utopia_ now," the demon continued, his disgust apparent. "After that Cochrane guy shot off in his warp drive and the Vulcans showed up everyone got annoyingly cooperative with each other. We get the occasional idiot here and there, but the big catches, the ones that _really_ get things going, are in the final frontier."

Dean wiped his hand down his face, frustrated. The thought of demons roaming the stars unchecked horrified him. On Earth there were billions of lives at stake; in space there were probably _trillions_. "Okay, so you're entrepreneurs. What does this have to do with the angels not being around?"

"They stick to Earth. Angels need _permission_ to possess a meatsuit. Ever try to convince a spoon-head to be pious? Or a Klingon?"

Castiel looked down at himself and then at the demon. "They've only been able to convince humans," he extrapolated.

"Ding ding, score one for feathers here. Sure, there's some in Starfleet but with all those xenophobic new species out there it makes it hard for those cloud-squatters to get around."

"You're being really, _really_ helpful," Dean observed suspiciously. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," said the demon smugly. "Other than that I suspect help is coming in three, two…"

The creature mouthed "one" as the door swished open and both Odo and Jadzia rushed in. "What is the meaning of this?" the Constable demanded. He advanced threateningly on Dean. "Two of my deputies are lying outside dead and you have a third in your room. Explain what is going on immediately!"

"Constable," the demon whispered. He was affecting terror, whipping his eyes back and forth from Castiel to Dean. "I-I came to relieve Deputy Polot and saw his and Berail's human dragged me in and said he was going to kill me too!"

Gleefully, Dean watched the Constable's eyes narrow as he stated, "You, Deputy Varas, were assigned to security for the Cardassian freighter, not guard duty over the time travelers."

"Yeah, Varas," the hunter added, "why weren't you at the Cardashian freighter?"

Odo gave him a withering look as Jadzia knelt down and lifted a portion of the rug. "What's this?"

"A devil's trap," Castiel helpfully explained before Dean could form a credible lie.

"A _painted_ trap?" she queried, bemused.

"Yes. The deputy is possessed by a demon. He cannot leave the circle."

"That's crazy!" cried the thing inside Varas. "Lieutenant, they're insane. How could that even be possible?"

Dean was thankful for the no-nonsense, pragmatic manner of the shapeshifter when Odo crossed his arms and ordered, "Then why don't you just step over the line."

The four of them waited as the demon tried to figure out what to do. He made a brave step forward and slammed into the barrier. Jadzia, intrigued, stuck her hand over the trap and commented, "No force field. Could there be an energy source–"

As Dean was shouting a warning, the demon grabbed the Trill's arm and yanked her into the trap with him. He wrapped an arm around her neck and reached behind his back to withdraw a long knife still stained with the blood of the men by the door. The demon pointed it at Jadzia's abdomen. When Dean and Odo both surged forward, the creature scolded them. "Ah-ah. One step over the line and the symbiont gets it."

While Odo was infuriated, Dean was confused. A gut wound would hurt, sure, but most hostage takers went for the carotid or the heart. The hunter then realized that Castiel was staring intently at Jadzia, his head cocked in confusion. "Cass," Dean hissed. " _Cass_!"

"Don't think of touching that combadge, Constable," the demon snarled. "Now. One of you kneel down and scratch up that devil's trap so me and the lieutenant here can go fetch us a runabout."

"How far do you think you'll get abducting a member of Starfleet, Varas?" Odo asked furiously.

"Not very far," answered Castiel who was suddenly behind the demon, a hand on Varas' head. A white light erupted from the vessel's eyes and mouth as it let out a scream. Seconds later the body collapsed.

Having seen it numerous times before, the scorched and bloody gaps where Varas' eyeballs had been didn't phase the hunter. Odo and Jadzia, however, were absolutely horrified. "You _killed_ him," the Trill said. "You killed him by _touching_ him."

Dean held up his hands and approached. "Don't, like, stab me or nothing, but let me search him for a sec."

The Trill backed away as Dean began undoing Varas' uniform. "There," he said as he pointed to the Bajoran's bare chest. "Dude was already dead."

On the body were several stab wounds as well as a black burn over his heart. Jadzia knelt beside the hunter and poked and prodded methodically at each spot. "The phaser blast alone would have been fatal," she observed. "But this one and this one are as well. Constable, your deputy has three mortal wounds and was walking around like nothing was wrong."

Odo hit the pin on his uniform. "Dr. Bashir." He waited a beat for the acknowledgement before continuing. "I have three bodies I'll need you to look at right away: Deputies Varas, Polot, and Berail. Utilize their combadges for transport."

"Ready," came the doctor's response. A moment later, the swirly lights enveloped the demon's vessel and it was gone.

"You and you," the Constable ordered as he pointed at Dean and then at Castiel, "are _not_ to leave this room."

The hunter was surprised at how relieved Castiel was to receive this instruction. With a final warning glower, Odo marched out of the exit. Jadzia walked through the doors with a thoughtful frown on her features.

Dean walked over to the replicator and ordered two beers. He tossed one to the angel and the both of them sat in opposing chairs. "So," began the hunter, "mind telling me what _really_ happened with your clothes or do I just get to imagine the orgy that occurred?"

* * *

"I can't explain it," said Dr. Bashir. He and the Commander were sitting in the latter's office several hours later going over the autopsies.

Jake had already (rather haphazardly) told Sisko of Castiel being mobbed by fanatics in the Promenade. The incident was still rippling through the station as frequent brawls or shouting matches between Bajorans who stuck with the Commander being the Emissary and those who were inclined to lean towards the angel. Odo had been forced to assign extra security around the area.

The three bodies were now at the morgue, two with cut throats and one with a skull burned from the inside out. The description Dax had made of the angel's barehanded immolation of Deputy Varas still had the Commander reeling. What sort of creature was capable of such a thing? "What can't you explain, doctor?" he asked.

"Deputy Varas. Jadzia was right; two of those stab wounds hit vital organs." Bashir held out his PADD and brought up the layout delineating the Bajoran's body. "Here," he pointed, "this one hit his lungs. _This_ one severed a coronary artery. The phaser burn? Indicative of a blast set to kill. It _should_ have obliterated his heart."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that this man should have died within minutes of having these wounds inflicted. The phaser blast should have killed him instantly."

Sisko picked up his own PADD. "According to the Constable, there are two suspicious incidents where Varas was present. The first was a missing Betazoid crewman that disappeared from a passenger ship he'd been monitoring. The second was a brawl at Quark's where one of the Ferengi waiters was found dead in the debris."

"Ah, yes, I remember. He was underneath a table and we all assumed he'd been crushed by the melee. His injuries certainly reflected our hypothesis. What did that one have to do with Varas?"

"He was among the security force that arrived."

The doctor was silent and the Commander allowed him his thoughts. His own were spinning about. Both Dax and Odo had corroborated the fact that the deputy had been unable to step over the painted mandala and had requested it be marred in order for him to leave. The pair had left the quarters without a second thought, but upon being questioned realized that they had both stepped on the so-called trap without incident. "Are we really going to consider that Castiel was telling the truth?" Sisko finally said.

More comfortable with scientific theory than ecclesiastical suppositions, Bashir was still very skeptical. "To be honest, I don't know what to think. If, perhaps, I could study Castiel a little bit more, get some blood and tissue samples…"

Amused at the doctor's rational approach, Sisko lifted an eyebrow and said, "I'll be sure to ask if he's willing."

"You're going to speak with them?"

The Commander sighed. "I'm going to have to. Unless you've got a better plan to sort this out."

Bashir thought for a moment. "Break out the bibles and the crucifixes?"

"Let's… hold off on that for now."

* * *

"So what's an Emissary?"

Castiel shrugged. "I have no idea." He looked at Dean, stricken with desperation. "Dean, I want no one's fealty. I want no one's _worship_. I am far from being worthy to be an icon of anything whatsoever."

His friend wiped a hand down his face and stared off into the distance. Dean was likely recalling the same thing that the seraph was, the event that was ultimately responsible for their current situation; Castiel's brief time posing as God. The remembrance made his gut twist. He could still remember the euphoria at being so very _powerful_ , how easy it was to make his will a reality, and how _righteous_ he felt smiting those who dared blaspheme in His name.

Such a brief moment of omnipotence. Enough time to expose his hubris and imperfections. And the consequences…

"Cass? Yo, Cass!"

Dean's loud claps interrupted his maudlin reverie. He gave the hunter a baffled look.

"I've been calling your name for five frigging minutes, man," said Dean. "Those Bajorans got you really freaked out."

"Yes. I need to stop this… whatever it is… sooner rather than later."

"Good."

The angel flinched when he heard the hunter's tone. Such pent-up anger and feelings of betrayal lay in that single word. Dean was obviously still working towards forgiveness and Castiel had no intention of interrupting the process; there was much he needed to be forgiven for. But he had noticed that humans did eventually arrive at that desired point, even if it took weeks, months, or years. The seraph would just have to be patient.

"I think I need to find out about this Emissary," Castiel stated as he stood. "Perhaps the place has a library."

Dean scoffed then yelled out to the ceiling, "Yo, Compy!" He was greeted with a series of beeps. "Whaddya know about the Emissary?"

"Please specify how you would like the word 'emissary' referenced," said an emotionless, disembodied female voice.

"Uh," the hunter uttered as he snapped his fingers, "the-the Emissary for the Bajorans. The religious thingy."

"Dean?" Castiel said, his concern growing as the woman began a lecture.

"Yeah?"

"Where is this woman?"

"What woman?"

"Compy. If this woman is knowledgable of this Emissary perhaps it would be better to ask her these questions in person rather than bother her over the speakerphone."

"Oh for the love of…" Dean took a long swig of beer. "Compy, hold up on the info." The beeps sounded again. "All right, lemme tell you what I learned yesterday."

And for the next hour the hunter explained the basics of the twenty-fourth century. Castiel didn't absorb much of it. It might have been wrong, but he was just glad to be sitting here, that the hunter hadn't turned completely away from him, and he let the man's voice roll over him pleasantly.

There were a great many things that needed to be addressed, but for right now it felt nice to just be with his friend.

* * *

 **Author's note** : I went off the assumption that Star Trek computers are smart enough to recognize nicknames. It was just too hard to picture Dean saying "Computer, blah blah…"


	8. Chapter 8

7/25/2016 - Shorter chapter, but literary necessities and all of that. Just hit a good stopping point.

For **seth** : I have no intentions of doing Destiel, at least in the homoerotic sense. I really think the two dudes are just besties. The whole Destiel or Wincest stuff (you… you all know they're brothers, _right_?), not my thing.

Thank you **princessbinas** , **seth** , and mystery guest for the reviews!

* * *

Dean was driving the Impala, Sammy in the passenger's seat, Cass and Kevin in the back, and they were all singing Bohemian Rhapsody. The road was whipping by, mile markers going past at incredible speeds. Where they were going and where they had come from didn't matter. It felt good, normal, wonderful… At least until the car stalled.

After cursing vehemently, Dean turned to his brother to ask for his help only to find a horrifically desiccated old man, his front covered in vomit, struggling desperately to breathe. Sam's pink, rheumy eyes stared accusingly at his brother as he gasped and gasped, each breath bringing him closer to death. The question in the younger Winchester's eyes was simple and harsh: Where had Dean been when he was needed the most?

He swiveled around to the back seat to cry for healing from Castiel and saw Kevin. A mangled, mutilated Kevin whose twisted, broken fingers had no nails. Blood dripped from his mouth, his nose, the hollow red gaps that had been his eyes, and yet the boy was _alive_ , his jaw moving up and down as he silently pled for salvation.

The hunter then whipped his head towards Castiel. The seraph's head was bowed, his angel blade held before him with both hands. He looked up and the despair Dean saw in his friend's face left no doubt to his intentions. Before he could stop him, the angel plunged his own blade into his heart and died, exploding white light enveloping them all as the angel's wings were branded onto the Impala's interior…

Dean woke up, pulse pounding in terror and limbs flailing, only to fall off the couch. "Ow! Shit!"

He wiped a hand down his face. When the hunter looked around, he saw the rounded windows and the stars outside. For once in his life he was actually thankful not to see the inside of his Baby.

After his heart resumed its normal speed, Dean dragged himself to the bathroom and started the stupid vibrating cleaning thing. He eyed it with loathing. What he wouldn't give right now to have piping hot water flowing from a shower head with one of those fancy dials that made the stream into a massager. This might get him cleaner, but it certainly didn't help him relax.

When he walked out, the hunter realized that Castiel was standing at the window, or, more precisely, was _still_ standing at the window. The seraph was gazing at the stars just as intently as he had been the night before when Dean had finally hit the sack. He was about to ask the angel if he'd been able to x-ray vision any good alien nudity out there when the blooping doorbell went off.

"Yeah?" Dean shouted.

When the doors swished open, the hunter saw that there were now two Starfleet members guarding the entrance instead of the Bajorans. Idly he wondered what the change was about. Their two guests might have had something to do with the alteration.

Jadzia and the Commander gave Dean professionally correct greeting smiles. "I was hoping you'd be awake," said Benjamin. "We had some things we'd like to discuss with the both of you."

"Like what?"

"Like what Castiel said yesterday about possession."

* * *

Sisko knew that his doubt was writ large on his expression, but he was at a loss to explain what had happened. The two men had displayed the demon trap and explained why Castiel had killed Deputy Varas in that rather gruesome manner. He withheld the autopsy findings from Dr. Bashir in case the time travelers decided to weave the circumstances into their fable.

Other than interjecting a question here and there, Dax had spent the time with a tricorder around the so-called "devil's trap" trying to figure out if there was a scientific explanation for the painted force field. The thin lips and tense shoulders told Sisko that his old friend was having no luck.

"So you're saying that there's no way for us to figure out who is a demon and who isn't _other_ than these sigils?" the Commander asked.

"You could toss holy water in everyone's faces and see who cooks," offered Dean.

Sisko thought for a minute before reaching a theory. "Are you telling me that all those homicides you've been accused of have been because of… _demons_?"

"Uh, nope! Other assholes."

"Such as?"

"The leviathan," inserted Castiel. His eyes hadn't left the window. "Creatures of Purgatory. God's first failed creations. They know nothing but to consume."

"Consume what?" asked Dax.

"Everyone."

"You mean every _thing_."

Castiel blinked at her, tearing his eyes away from the stars for the first time since the two Starfleet officers had arrived. "No, I meant every _one_. They meant to breed and harvest mankind much as you once did with pigs or cows."

Commander Sisko was bewildered. "How is it possible that we've never heard of any of this?"

"You probably have," said Dean. "You just didn't know what you were lookin' at. Hey, Compy!" The computer acknowledged him. "Give me anything you got on about Richard Roman Enterprises."

"Richard Roman Enterprises was an early twenty-first century corporation specializing in food additives and pharmaceuticals," droned the computer. "Records indicate the conglomerate began in late 2005 and collapsed in late 2012 after their CEO, Richard Roman, mysteriously vanished. No further information available."

"Collapsed because we ganked the son of a bitch," Dean explained proudly.

"You're admitting to an additional murder," accused the Commander.

"If by murder you mean killing a monster that ate people then _yes_."

Sisko sighed and took another minute or so to ponder, his elbows on his knees and his hands pressed together. "Let's assume you're telling the truth," he finally said. "That there were demons and leviathan and whatever else. Why not go to the authorities? Why not make this a public problem? You could have been sanctioned to eliminate these things rather than end up with misunderstandings and federal prosecution."

Dean rubbed a hand down his face and muttered, "Goddamnit. I'm no freaking philosopher or lawyer or nothing." They waited while the time traveler formed his explanation. "Okay, so, uh, how did you honestly feel when we said Cass was an angel and that Varas dude was a demon?"

"With a good deal of skepticism," the Commander admitted. "And, I'll admit it, a bit of fear."

"Yeah? If you went and made some big announcement to the entire space station, with all the frigging religious guys and kids and random other dickheads, that _anyone_ could be a monster what do you think would happen?"

"Panic," Dax answered as she abandoned her attempt to investigate the sigil. She sat beside Sisko and continued. "Paranoia. Chaos. People accusing each other in the hallways."

"Exactly. And you guys are supposed to be enlightened and shit. What do you think would happen if the stupid, angry, gun-toting twenty-first century public found out about it?"

"Same thing on a much larger scale."

"Well," Dean concluded as he threw his hands up in a shrug, "there ya go. Hunter community thought the same thing, so we kept things to ourselves. Easier that way."

Everything the time traveler was saying was _plausible_ , but how would they ever ferret out the truth? Records from the beginning of the twenty-first century and before the Eugenics War were rare, primarily limited to a federal database that several quick thinking bureaucrats had downloaded to portable servers before WWIII nukes disabled nearly everything computerized. Paper records had been veritably obliterated. Once in a while someone would stumble onto a digital artifact from the time period or the century before but it was extremely rare that the data was intact.

Benjamin could, however, sympathize with Dean's assertion that the general public could not have handled the truth about the creatures among them. How many times had he protected a younger Jake from the monster in the closet? What would they have done if Jake knew that those monsters were real?

He was becoming more and more convinced that Dax had been right. Dean Winchester was an admitted killer, but he was not a _murderer_. The blood on his hands had come from his self-imposed obligation to protect others. It remained to be seen whether or not these creatures were real, but the man appeared to be inherently conscientious.

Sisko exchanged a look with Dax, who nodded. She had made the same conclusion two days ago. "Very well," he stated. "In twelve to fourteen days a delegation from Earth will be here to verify your origins. There are probably be a few historians who will want to speak with you."

"Great. I'm a monkey in a cage."

The Commander smiled. He remembered being under intense scrutiny after his meeting with the wormhole aliens. "Just be yourself," he advised. "They're coming to see someone from the past, not someone who's been trained into politeness."

Dean's smirk and Castiel's lifted brows didn't bode well for whatever intellectual got under their skin. Sisko cleared his throat. "There will also be a set of Starfleet officers who will be here to evaluate the legality of your rather… colorful criminal record."

"They're putting me on trial," Dean inferred, clearly annoyed by the prospect.

"Basically, yes. But I would like to give you a chance." The Commander withdrew a Bajoran combadge from his pocket. "Here. You're to wear this under the same rules that were given to Castiel. You're to keep it on at all times and you are not permitted to leave the station."

"Uh, okay."

Sisko gave Dean a stern look. "I'm asking you to take these two weeks to prove yourself. Dax believes you. Our Constable does not. I think if you can convince _him_ that you're telling the truth I think the Federation will have a difficult time prosecuting crimes three centuries old."

"Great," the time traveler groaned, clearly understanding how difficult the task would be.

Before rising to leave, the Dax showed Dean and Castiel how to contact another person using the combadge a and the computer. The Trill also suggested that the other two try to blend in a little more if they wanted to keep a low profile. As they exited, the Commander could hear Dean asking "Compy" about clothing choices that weren't as lame as what he'd been given when he left the infirmary. Sisko couldn't help but chuckle to himself.

He dearly hoped he was making the right decision, that his instincts were running true. If not, there would be hell to pay when that ship arrived.

* * *

"Is everything all right, sir?"

"Yes, fine," the man replied. "Just enjoying the view."

The Starfleet ensign nodded at him and left.

He smiled. Three hundred and fifty eight years since he'd seen either of them. So much had been accomplished in the interim, but their absence, and subsequently their unfinished business, had galled. Had he known they were here in the future it would have saved a lot of lives. Or maybe not, who knows, and, frankly, who cares. At the very least, having those brothers and their little cloud squatter out of the game had enabled him to consolidate his power base. He nodded to bumself, quite satisfied with the outcome.

Crowley was very much looking forward to reuniting with his _old friends_. They had so much to catch up on.

* * *

 **Author's note** : I actually am not exactly sure about how early records work in the Star Trek universe. I did find something about WWIII making everything to poof but not much else. If someone has more info, please let me know!


	9. Chapter 9

7/31/2016 - Been rereading some of my favorite fics: _Welcome to Fatherhood_ , an SPN fic by **I'mNotCleverLol** , and _Legend_ , the BtVS/ST:TNG crossover by **ShayneT**. I even discovered a Twilight fic, _Becoming Jane_ , by **LoreliD** (it's a guilty pleasure; not into the sparkly vamps but the Volturi is fascinating). Does anyone have any other recommendations?

Note: A few lines are taken directly from the ST:DS9 episode, " _The Maquis, Part I._ " Credit goes to Chrissie's Transcripts Site.

Thanks to Anonymous, Mystery Guest, **thelastsamoan** , **princessbinas** , and **PsychoJinx** for the reviews! And thank you everyone who is following!

* * *

In the end, Dean decided on some twenty-fourth century cargo pants and a couple of brown jackets made with a multitude of pockets. The combadge went into an inside pocket where he was used to storing a Bowie or an angel blade. His shirts and flannel he kept and went underneath his new coats. The hunter also kept his boots; he doubted there were going to be many people staring at his feet.

Castiel wanted nothing to do with the public until the furor had died down. He promised to do something other than stare out the window. As Dean headed for the lift (not the elevator, he reminded himself) he could hear Cass hesitantly asking Compy about the Eugenics War.

Surprisingly, there was only one Starfleet officer standing guard on their door, one of the blue guys. "Hey," Dean asked, "should I just go back to the Promenade or what?"

"It's 1800 hours, sir," blue-guy replied. "I would suggest Quark's."

Ah, the big-eared dude's place. The hunter thanked him and took the lift up (or down, or sideways; the thing was too smooth to give any sort of sense of direction). When the doors opened, he headed off to the right. If he remembered correctly from Jadzia's tour, the Promenade had been a circle. One way or another he'd get to the bar.

Nobody was giving him a second glance, for which Dean was thankful. He meandered in and out of shops and restaurants to get a better feel of the place. Now that he was no longer being tailed by a Starfleet officer he noticed some discrepancies in how the different species treated one another.

Humans ran the gamut from friendly to loathed, but it seemed as if this was related more to personal or occupational relationships than anything else. Bajorans were the most accepted and the most populous. Cardassians were few, but those that were there carried themselves arrogantly, sneering at everyone other than themselves. There were especially vitriolic glances between them and the Bajorans. That would be something to have to ask Compy about later.

Klingons were interesting in the sense that they exuded the feeling of being a hair's trigger away from violence. They, too, made much of themselves, their pride blatant, but unlike the quiet, contemptuous Cardassians the Klingons were rambunctious and loud and almost cheerful. Dean thought it would be fun to try and rile them up later.

He finally made it around to Quark's and happily took stock of the establishment. It was a far cry from the seedy bars Dean had been used to frequenting, notwithstanding the fact that it was being run by aliens in space. A brightly lit bar took up most of the right side from the entrance directly across two roulette tables that were surrounded by patrons. Tables lined the first floor and the balconies, most of which were filled. Peering upwards, the hunter could see larger doors in the recesses of the upper area where he assumed there were private parties or other less publicly appropriate entertainments.

Dean lifted an eyebrow when he realized the Ferengi proprietor, most likely this "Quark," was heading his direction, a decidedly eager look in his eyes. "Ah, there he is, _there he is_!" he said enthusiastically. "Our resident time-traveler! Come, come, have a seat. First drink is on me."

Recalling what Jadzia had said about the rather mercenary nature of the Ferengi, Dean was immediately on alert. However, he was never one to turn down a free drink. "Yeah, okay sure," he replied as he sat at the bar.

"So, what's your preference?" Quark asked. "Wine? Ale? Something stronger?"

"Uh, what about beer?"

"Yes, of course!" The Ferengi reached underneath the bar and pulled out a bottle. "I have the finest in Cardassian ales, brewed for none other than Gul Dukat himself. Bet you've never had such a high class drink before, huh?" Quark started to chuckle while Dean popped the top of the bottle and took a long swig neither knowing or caring what a Gul Dukat was.

Whatever the stuff was made out of, it had a _kick_. "Holy shit," coughed the hunter.

"Good, eh?"

"Damn straight," Dean agreed. He tipped his drink gratefully towards the bartender and took another swig.

"So," Quark murmured conspiratorially, "the twenty-first century, eh? Bet the planet was full of savage hu-mahns running around wild."

"What?"

"No Federation, no Starfleet, not even intergalactic trade. I mean, it had to be just… primitive."

Dean stared at the Ferengj, baffled. "Why the hell would you think that?"

" _Everyone_ knows about how uncivilized you hu-mahns were. In fact, there are some who are willing to _pay_ to experience it." Quark leaned in, his voice pitched just barely loud enough to be heard over the din. "You give me firsthand accounts of what twenty-first century Earth life was like, I get exclusive holosuite distribution rights, and we rake in the latinum! 80/20 share of course. What do you say?"

As the hunter's life experiences included a bevy of monstrous encounters, he doubted that anything he had to give the guy would count as a regular example "twenty-first century Earth." He was tempted to fabricate a few situations by stretching the truth on some hunts. After a moment, however, he realized something. "Did you say 80/20?"

"Of course. Standard Ferengi percentages. Most goes to the proprietor as wages for work, taxes, fees, all that nonsense that you really shouldn't be worrying about."

"Pass," Dean proclaimed as he chugged the last of his drink.

Quark chuckled and wagged a finger. "You drive a hard bargain! 70/30."

"No thanks."

The Ferengi began gesturing urgently to someone behind the hunter. A moment later, a set of soft, lithe hands were gliding their way down Dean's chest. "You think about things a little more," said Quark. "Paleeta here will take care of you in the meantime."

Paleeta's teeth, a little too sharp for human, nibbled Dean's ear playfully. He lifted his eyebrows at Quark and smirked. "This how everyone new gets greeted at your bar?" the hunter asked as the girl pulled him off of his seat with a giggle.

Twiddling his fingers goodbye, Quark muttered to himself, "Only those that stand to make me a profit."

* * *

"The Cardassian freighter Bok'Nor is requesting permission to depart Upper Pylon One in three minutes," stated Dax.

Major Kira Nerys, the other active Ops personnel at the late hour, replied, "We have an incoming Bolian vessel at coordinates one zero mark three eight. Give the Bok'Nor a clear trajectory out of the traffic pattern."

"Acknowledged."

Silence descended as the two women made the appropriate computational adjustments to navigate traffic from the station. "So," Kira finally said, "how are the time travelers adjusting?"

Dax continued with her work as she responded, "I think Dean is doing well. Castiel got a little unnerved because of yesterday and won't leave their room."

"Saying he was going to go see the Prophets," scoffed Kira. "What kind of nonsense is that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Julian seems to think he might have really gone."

"But how can you know for sure?"

"Well, unless you ask him we really can't, although from what he was saying on the Promenade it sounds like he at least _thought_ he was speaking to them."

Kira sighed. "Well, at least Castiel seems more well-mannered than the other one."

Dax gave her friend a wry smile. "You're just upset because Dean was looking at your… assets."

The Bajoran blushed. "Releasing rocking clamps at Upper Pylon One," she stated, attempting to hide her embarrassment through duty. Then she frowned. "That's funny. I'm picking up elevated–" Kira suddenly punched a button and demanded, "DS–9 to Bok'Nor. Shut down your engines! Repeat, shut down your–"

An explosion rocked the central module and the two officers grabbed onto their consoles for support. They began frantically checking the computers as Kira hit her combadge and shouted, "Ops to engineering personnel! Report to rescue stations. We have an SID in progress!"

Dax shook her head at her friend. "There's nothing left of it. There's no one left to rescue."

* * *

Castiel jerked back from the window at the explosion. He stared, disconcerted, as he realized that some of the specks flying about were organic. Whatever had caused the ship to destruct had been incredibly thorough.

They weren't human, those beings that had been killed, but they were still part of the living. Would they go to Heaven? Were there, perhaps, different Heavens for each species? Did that mean there were separate angels and demons too?

He shook his head. Varas had been infected by the same sort of demonic creatures the angel had always seen. Whether or not these new souls went one way or the other wasn't consequential; it seemed there were enough denizens of Hell to go around regardless. Their hands were evidentiary throughout the centuries that he and Dean had missed, purposely inflicting chaos and strife on a galactic scale.

There were recognizable signs in each major war involving the Federation and, more recently, a few that weren't. Castiel spotted demon work in the conflicts involving the Klingons, Romulans, and Cardassians; nothing overt, but subtle nudges here and there, decisions that seemed just to the side of unlikely by key players, directions to troops led astray. All were designed to prolong the wars or to cause the maximum amount of casualties. To what design, the seraph wasn't certain.

The one species that seemed blessedly demon-free was the Borg, and judging by what he'd heard of them he wasn't surprised. Castiel couldn't fathom how disturbing it would feel to be trapped in a vessel that had become the marionette of some technologically advanced entity.

There were also signs of angelic intervention here and there, and, like Varas said, they were primarily centered around humans. Miracle healing mostly with a few mysterious deaths that Castiel recognized as his brethren working to smite demons.

He could understand their reluctance to mix with these new peoples. The only space-faring species that seemed compatible with their stoicism was the Vulcan. Others were too violent, too scheming, too greedy for an angel to blend in even if they could have appropriated one as a vessel.

It meant that incidents like the one he had just witnessed could be occurring regularly because of demonic influence and there were no heavenly warriors in this part of the galaxy to stop them. So that just left him; a broken fallen angel who would rather hide in a room than face the consequences of what he had done.

Perhaps it was better than nothing.

He made a decision. Now he just had to verify that it was the _right_ decision.

* * *

Sisko tried not to sigh as he looked at the message from Starfleet. He'd sent in the requisite report, including O'Brien and Dax's findings, and now they were all bracing for the expected Cardassian retaliation. The only thankful part of the incident was being able to reunite with Lieutenant Commander Hudson. It would be good to find out how his old Academy friend was handling the Demilitarized Zone.

Deep in thought, as well as feeling exhausted by the late hour, Benjamin nearly fell out of his chair when, with the sound of enormous flapping wings, Castiel suddenly appeared in front of him.

"For the love of God, man!" the Commander hissed. "Learn to walk through the door!"

The time traveler narrowed his eyes. "I know how to walk through doors," he said, offended.

Sisko gaped for a moment before regaining his composure. "Is there something you need, Castiel?"

"I wish to offer my services," he stated. "I wish to monitor the demonic forces around Deep Space 9."

"All right," replied the Commander, baffled. "How do you propose to do this?"

"I can see a demon's true face no matter what vessel it takes. And I am the only one here that can kill them."

Sisko was still unwilling to concede fully the truthfulness of the time travelers' assertions, but he couldn't deny that if there were some nefarious persons skulking about then it would be very useful to have someone who could identify them. There was a small issue, however. "If Deputy Varas is any indication then these… demons are going to look like everyone else. I cannot have you performing executions unsanctioned."

He took a moment to think. "I think the best solution would be for you to report them to the Constable. But I would prefer you not walk about the premises until we've settled the Bajoran populace."

"All right." Castiel turned to go. He pointedly walked through the doorway before vanishing again.

Sisko finally indulged in a sigh. Sabotage, time travel, and now the supernatural. He really hoped that the universe was ready to take a break from dumping surprises on his head.


	10. Chapter 10

8/9/2016 - Sorry for the relatively long update! My SPN/BtVS fic is approaching the end and I'm kinda riding the slide down to the pool. After that I have a couple of other crossovers in mind because apparently I really like crossing over.

Anyways, thank you **PsykoJinx** , **princessbinas** , **seth** , and **PineappleoftheLordAssbutts** (love the username, btw) for the reviews! And hello all of you following and favoriting!

* * *

"Dean."

The man in question shot up out of bed with a hand snatching for the pistol that he had once regularly kept under his pillow. Pointing a finger-gun at his intruder felt ridiculous, especially since it was just Cass being Cass.

"Fucking hell," the hunter cursed as he rubbed sleep from his face. "What time is it?"

The seraph looked outside at the stars and then back at his friend. "I have no idea."

"Oh for-Compy, what time is it?"

"The time is 0900 hours," it stated.

"Fine. What is it, Cass?"

"Is there a woman in your bed? Were you about to instigate intercourse? I can return later."

Dean just stared, absolutely bereft of commentary. Then he remembered Paleeta. The hunter looked to the other side and saw the (astonishingly flexible) young woman sleeping naked next to him. A line of small, black nodules down her spine attested to her non-Earthly origins. He gently rubbed her shoulder and murmured, "Hey."

"Mm?"

"We got company."

Paleeta turned and, upon seeing Castiel, let out a gasp and pulled the sheet up over her ample breasts. The seraph looked away, flustered, reminding Dean that Cass was, for all intents and purposes, a virgin. Their one foray into relieving him of the situation had ended in disaster. Mischievously, the hunter smirked and told his bed-partner, "Hey. You wanna shower and some breakfast?"

"Just some Tarkalean Tea," she answered. The woman snaked over and nibbled his ear. "Last night was absolutely amazing. You come find me _anytime_ if you feel up to an encore." Paleeta gave him a parting lick and stood up, displaying all her glorious assets. Whatever consternation she may have had over Castiel's sudden appearance was obviously gone as she sauntered past him into the bathroom.

Once the door swished shut, Dean leaned back against the headboard and tried his best not to laugh at the angel's discomfort. "So, you come in here for the show or what?"

"Uh," Castiel attempted, "well. You see… There are… things happening that were talked. And decided. Nothing to do with the Pizza Man."

At that, the hunter was unable to repress a snort. The whole "Megstiel" incident prior to one of their many assaults on Crowley still puzzled him to no end, especially after the history he and his brother had with Meg. Unfortunately, the memory drudged up the thought of Sam and effectively killed any mirth Dean had remaining. He put his feet on the floor, leaned over to his clothing, and began getting dressed.

Paleeta emerged from the shower shortly afterwards and picked up her own clothing from around the room, purposely bumping into the angel when she realized why he was acting so strange. "Oh, excuse me," she giggled before retreating back into the bathroom.

"It's not a problem," Castiel replied belatedly. He blinked a few times and peered at Dean. "Should I expect the woman here more often?"

"Depends on whether or not I get some kinda alien STD," Dean muttered as he stood up to pull on his pants. Once they were up, he spread his arms and let them flop down in exasperation. "You okay to make an _actual_ explanation now?"

"Yes. Commander Sisko will allow me to patrol the station for demons, but I cannot do so until the Bajorans have stopped attempting to worship me."

"And?"

"I have no idea how to even begin."

Baffled, the hunter asked, "Why would I know?"

Castiel sighed. "I need purpose here. This will allow me to be something more than just a time anomaly. I am… asking for help, like I should have done before."

The seraph's stubborn assertion that he alone could solve all of Heaven's problems was the crux of much of their current problems. Admitting his mistake made Dean take a few more steps towards forgiving Castiel for what had transpired. "All right," the hunter ceded, "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Cass replied. Immediately afterwards, Paleeta emerged from the bathroom freshened up and the angel scurried away. From the other room, they could hear him ordering the woman's tea and some coffee.

She licked her lips. "Maybe your friend could join in next time."

Rather daunted by the prospect of steering his friend through a sexual encounter, Dean simply said, "No, he can't," before giving Paleeta a lengthy kiss. He gave her a parting swat on the buttocks before heading to the bathroom for his own ablutions.

* * *

Apparently all of the senior officers were busy dealing with a ship that blew up, which meant that Jadzia wasn't available to help Dean deal with Castiel's theological issues. Luckily for him (and unluckily for the crew of that ship), there were no survivors to treat and Dr. Bashir was sitting in his clinic preparing for the day. "What's up, doc?" the hunter called.

"Dean!" Bashir replied genially. "Good to see you. How's everything going?"

"Uh, good thanks. Hey, I've got a problem, you got a sec?"

"Oh, certainly. Please, sit!"

Dean sat in the chair next to Bashir's and asked, "So, that friend of mine, Cass–Castiel? Remember him?"

"Of course. Is this about what happened on the Promenade a few days ago?"

"You were there?"

The doctor sighed and leaned back. "Apparently one of my assistants took what he said about visiting the Prophets literally. Your friend is causing quite a bit of an uproar amongst the Bajorans."

"Yeah, that's kinda the problem. He ain't leaving my room until it's fixed and I don't even know where to start."

Bashir stared outside pensively for a few moments. "The two people I would normally tell you to go to are the Commander or Major Kira but they're still busy dealing with the destruction of that Cardassian freighter. You could try going to the Bajoran temple."

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked as he stood. "Where's that?"

"Right next door," answered Bashir as he pointed.

"Awesome. Thanks, doc."

"No problem! Feel free to call me Julian."

Dean stood in front of the temple, frowning. He wasn't certain if there were protocols, like splashing holy water or something, but he did notice that it was only Bajorans on the inside. Not very many for the morning hour, but it still made him uneasy. Jadzia had warned him that they took their religion very seriously and the hunter didn't want to commit a faux pas and end up in the brig again.

"What are you doing here?"

Startled, Dean turned to find the red-uniformed woman he'd ogled in Ops. The irritation on her face was evidence enough that she remembered, but as she was wearing one of those earring thingies he decided to take a shot. "I'm wondering if I'm allowed in."

Taken aback, the woman said, "Why in the world would you want to go in the Temple?"

"Well, it's not for me, it's for my friend, uh, Castiel."

"Your friend," she replied flatly. "You mean the one that claimed he went to go see the Prophets?"

"That's the one."

"I'm still not understanding why you want to go in."

Dean's temper rose. "Look, I just want to clear up all this Emissary bullshit so he can walk around without being mobbed by your people!"

The red woman folded her arms and peered at him, unintimidated. "And how exactly are you proposing to do that?"

"I dunno! Talk to your priest or rabbi or whoever you've got in there to figure it out!"

The woman sighed and started to walk into the Temple. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the prylar." She spun on her heel and jabbed a finger at Dean's chest. "Try anything and you'll regret it."

At her retreating backside, the hunter softly grumbled, "Fish-nosed bitch," and followed.

The interior of the Temple didn't adhere to any of Dean's preconceptions of what a church was supposed to look like. For one, in lieu of pews a thick carpet covered the entire floor. A supplicant was off to one side praying on her knees. Large carved reliefs on the front wall flanked a bright shrine illuminated by several candles. Everything was brown and earthy, the red of the woman's uniform standing in sharp contrast.

A Bajoran wearing robes and a gentle smile walked from a shadowy alcove to grasp the red woman's hands. "Nerys," he said congenially, "it is good to see you."

"And you, Prylar Solat," the red woman responded as she cracked a smile for the first time in Dean's presence.

"I see you have a guest. Welcome…?"

"Dean," supplied the hunter.

"Then welcome Dean. Have you come to seek the wisdom of the Prophets?"

"Uh, nope. Here for a friend."

The prylar looked from the hunter to Nerys. "Oh?"

"I think what Dean would like to do is clear the confusion over the Emissary."

"Yup, that."

Prylar Solat nodded sympathetically. "Yes, Filara came to me for guidance but she would not be dissuaded. Your friend, Castiel is it? The way he keeps disappearing without a transporter…"

Inspired by this morsel of information, Dean formulated a semi-believable lie. "Oh no. He's using one. Yeah, see, we've been testing out a new version. Found out it's really unsafe, probably going to stick with the old one. Cass, you know, it was making him say crazy things like going to the Prophets and stuff."

The hunter could tell that Nerys was doing her best to mask her incredulity, but the prylar only nodded. "I see, that would explain much. I will speak with Filara again in private and also address the congregation. Please tell your friend that I hope he feels better soon." Prylar Solat bowed to Nerys and then to Dean. "Go with the Prophets, my children."

As soon as they stepped out of the Temple, Nerys grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him into the infirmary. "What was that?" she demanded.

"What was what?" Julian queried, baffled at the intrusion.

"This… This man, he just lied to the prylar!"

"About what?"

"About that other man, Castiel! He just told the prylar that we're _experimenting_ with a new transporter method and that the after effects made his friend temporarily insane."

Dean snapped, "Well, wasn't like you were giving me any help, _Nerys_!"

" _Major Kira_ , if you please."

The two glared at each other as Julian interjected, "I must say, that sounds like a fantastic way of getting around his problems."

"What?"

"Nerys, you didn't see the man yesterday. I understand the Bajorans are rather fervent in expressing their beliefs sometimes, but their attention sent Castiel into a terrible panic. Honestly, I don't see what your problem is with this."

Dean was fairly certain all of _Major Kira's_ issues regarding this had to do with her personal dislike of him. The assumption became more certain when she gave the lame excuse of, "It's sacrilegious. He shouldn't be lying to the prylar."

"You do realize he's from the twenty-first century. Human morals back then were a bit more… ambiguous."

"What he said," added Dean.

Major Kira lifted her arms up and let them drop in exasperation. "Fine." She glowered at the hunter. "I better not catch you doing anything like this again." With that, the woman stormed off. Dean took one last silent parting shot by admiring the way her ass moved under her uniform.

He turned to Julian. "The hell is her problem?"

"I have this feeling Major Kira doesn't like you," explained Julian, looking amused.

"Yeah, well, feeling's mutual," Dean grumbled.

"It's good you came back, actually. I was wondering, I have lunch with a friend every so often and he expressed the desire to meet with you. He owns one of the shops on the Promenade."

"This better not be that Quark dude."

"Ah, no. His name is Garak. He's the only Cardassian living on the station and I think he might want to converse with a fellow exile."

The con-man. This should be interesting. "Sounds fun. When and where?"

"1300 hours at the Replimat."

"All right. See ya then, doc."

* * *

After informing Cass that in a day or so he could start his demon patrol job, Dean had a few hours to kill. He decided to explore the areas that weren't the Promenade, hopefully without jarring any of the military personnel. The docks he found the most intriguing, especially with the mysterious boxes of cargo being loaded and unloaded in various bays. There was a great variety in quality and size of the crews and the ships, with a few that appeared downright piratical. It was at an empty docking port that he found someone using a slew of profanities while head first into an open bulkhead panel.

There were two men, both in a yellow version of the Starfleet uniforms, one lying on his back and the other crouching nearby peering inside. "Give me the goddamn pliers," demanded the one on his back. Dean noted a distinct Irish accent as the other replied, "Yes, chief."

The hunter watched, curious, as "Chief" resumed his tirade and did something or other inside the wall. A moment later, something sparked and he let out a yell. His partner pulled him out by the legs, unharmed but clearly on the brink of using the pliers to stab holes into the offending wall.

While the second man became oversolicitous in insuring that Chief had sustained no injuries, Dean crept forward unnoticed. He leaned over and peeped into the open panel to behold a series of long pipes, wires, and some more of the bleeping computer devices. "Wow," he murmured.

"What're you doing?" snapped Chief.

"Uh, sorry," Dean said as he straightened. "Just never seen the inside of a space station before."

"Oh," the man replied as recognition dawned. His voice became far less hostile. "You're one of those time travelers, yeah? Miles O'Brien."

Dean took the proffered hand and introduced himself. "What's going on in the wall?"

Miles sighed. "One of the many, many issues this damn station continues to have." He knelt down and gestured for Dean to join him. "See that there? That's the wiring that allows that door to open. Right now it's all shot to hell because with all the other things I've got on this station to do _this_ one is deciding to be difficult."

"Yeah? What's the issue?"

"You wouldn't understand," said Miles' associate condescendingly.

As Dean glowered from the floor, O'Brien explained, "Simple flow, the wires don't want to connect. Mostly a handyman sort of thing. It's just not being cooperative at the moment."

Hoping for a chance to show up the dickhead smirking down at him, the hunter asked, "Can I try?"

Miles blinked and shrugged. "By all means. Neither me nor Ensign Dyers here have been able to make it work." He handed over the set of of needle-nose pliers.

Dean got on his back like the other man had been and looked up. Most of what he saw was incomprehensible, but he understood which wires the Chief was having issues with anyways. It looked as if he'd been trying to be neat and tidy with his work, probably because of some sort of Starfleet regulation nonsense, but the hunter thought that if he twisted these here and (after being handed something called a hyperspanner) soldered these other things here then it would be like hot-wiring a fancy car.

"Try that," Dean called from inside the wall. He heard the other two make soft noises of disbelief and astonishment when the door swished open and closed. When the hunter pulled himself out, he stood up and flipped the pliers at Dyers. "There, douchebag."

The Ensign frowned deeply then leaned over to look at Dean's work. "That's a mess, Chief."

"Yeah?" responded Miles as he also looked inside. "It's a mess, but it's a working mess, and I'll take that any day. We'll need to shore up the connections here and here but I think it'll hold for a while." He took the hyperspanner from Dean and handed it to Dyers. "All yours."

With a pinched expression, the Ensign acquiesced and headed in. Miles gave the hunter a tired smile and thanked him. "I owe you a drink at Quark's later."

"Awesome. Later, Chief."

* * *

O'Brien watched the time traveler head around the corner. As Ensign Dyers cursed at his rather sweaty work, he examined his PADD and went down the list of items still to do. So many minor repairs here and there, similar to what he'd just been doing, and not enough personnel.

The Commander said that one of the time travelers, Castiel, wanted to stay on as some kind of security measure. It was assumed that Mr. Winchester would remain as well, at least until the pair was more adjusted to the time period.

Well, here he was with a mountain of work and someone who had jury-rigged Cardassian technology when two Starfleet trained officers had been struggling. Maybe Miles could give Mr. Winchester a more substantial reason to remain.

* * *

 **Author's note** : I'm taking liberties with how things got repaired around the station. I know that most of everything involved computers and whatnot, but since DS9 is Cardassian technology I'm assuming that there have to be some differences. Besides, half of O'Brien's show dialogue was complaining about his workload. Figured he could have some help!


	11. Chapter 11

9/17/2016 - It's been forever and a day, but I finally got around to finish this chapter. Finished one fic, started another, and now I can get going on Space the Final Frontier.

A few lines are taken directly from the ST:DS9 episode, " _The Maquis, Part I._ "

Thanks to **PsykoJinx** , **Psychee** , **seth** , and **missmeow1968** for the reviews! And for **332249** , here it is ;) Also hello hello to all of you following and favoriting!

* * *

"Garak, Dean. Dean, Garak."

"A pleasure!" the Cardassian proclaimed heartily. Dean nodded back at the man. Garak was unarmed, which was good, but it didn't take weapons to make a person deadly.

They sat at a public table to chat. Bashir had recommended a Cardassian meat stew which the three of them all partook. Dean was a little wary after he saw the bluish green color of the concoction, but after a spoonful he didn't object. It had a hearty flavor, slightly spicy, and the meat was tender (if striated a little strangely).

"So Dean," Julian said after seeing his lunch companions were pleased with their food, "seems like you're adjusting pretty well to your circumstances."

"Uh, yeah, sure," answered the hunter. Reminding him of his "circumstances" made him recall his isolation from everything and nearly everyone that he had known. He stabbed morosely at a piece of meat.

"I suspect that things seem quite strange," Garak commented. "Particularly when the wrong words in the right ears could alleviate your situation."

Dean snapped his eyes up at the Cardassian. The man's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but he was definitely amused at the hunter's predicament. For a moment Dean considered retorting by stabbing Garak in his smug little face (the divot in his forehead made for a ripe target). "Don't suppose you'd know much about that kind of thing as a _tailor_."

"Oh, on the contrary! As the delightful doctor has repeatedly pointed out, in my past I was much more than a simple purveyor of delightfully fashionable clothing. I was, in fact," the Cardassian lowered his tone to a conspiratorial hiss, "a dastardly _spy_."

Well, that would make sense, except Dean found it difficult to believe a spy would make it so public that he _was_ a spy; not unless it was a matter of hiding a preposterous truth out in the open. "So what could you spy on while fixing people's pants crotches?"

"You'd be surprised at what people reveal when they think no one's listening. For instance, did you know that the doctor here recently had to confer with a colleague regarding a rash on his–"

"Garak!" Julian choked out over a spoonful of stew.

"I was just illustrating a point."

Dean stifled a snort. If Garak was still a spy for whomever then he was probably a damn good one. The shapeshifter or some Starfleet personnel would be following him day and night otherwise. Since Dean didn't think his secrets were of any interest to anyone outside of Heaven or Hell, the man's possible underlying machinations didn't bother him. The hunter scraped up the last bit of stew from his bowl as he told them, "Better to keep your mouth shut all the time then."

"Quite so," agreed Garak. "Tell me, what was your former profession?"

"Mechanic," Dean answered automatically.

" _Really_ now. What, precisely, did that sort of occupation require in the past?"

The hunter leaned back on his chair and shrugged. "Fixing things. Family business. Cars mostly."

"Car?" Garak queried at Julian.

"Wheeled transportation machinery," the doctor explained. "Quite common until the wars occurred."

"Yeah, those things," said Dean.

"I see." The look Garak was giving him rose Dean's hackles. "I'm certain that this entailed many, many skills. Perhaps some that no one would have ever assumed were part and parcel of the occupation."

 _Oh we're playing_ this _game now, huh?_ " thought Dean. _Dude's on a fishing trip. Might as well join in._ "Sure. Just like tailoring."

"Just so. In fact, there are many skills which can be brought around to benefit more than just clothing and… cars."

 _Wonder what he thinks I did._ "Well, never know now will we?"

"You know, doctor," Garak said to Julian, "I am enjoying Dean's company very, _very_ much. Could we make him part and parcel of this routine of ours? At least whenever he's available."

"Dean?" inquired the doctor.

"Sure, why not," Dean replied. He exchanged knowing smiles with Garak.

"It's settled then!" Julian said cheerfully. "Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a patient scheduled in ten minutes and I should get ready."

Garak and Dean gave the doctor their farewells. The Cardassian chuckled. "Oh, dear Julian. So naive, so trusting. Now, Mr. Winchester, let us speak plainly."

Dean stiffened. Julian had not _once_ mentioned his last name. He leaned over and growled, "All right. Who the hell are you?"

"Just who I appear to be," Garak replied in a hushed tone. "But like you, my friend, I know that there are things in this world that defy explanation, and yet here they are."

"You a hunter?"

"Not quite in the manner that you're thinking. But I did once… _hunt_ among my people for certain undesirable elements. On one such excursion I encountered a very strange phenomenon. Would you care to guess what it was?"

Dean frowned, recalling his conversation with the demonic Varak; Hell's denizens had gone _intergalactic_. "Someone on your home planet with black eyes."

"Precisely. In the midst of our interrogation he spoke of you and your brother. In passing, surely, but with _such_ hate. It's why your name has stayed with me through the years." Garak laughed at the murderous expression on the hunter's face. "Oh, don't worry! I have no intention of _doing_ anything with this knowledge."

As the Cardassian stood, his tray in hand, Dean asked, "Then why tell me?"

"Why, Dean. So that you will _trust_ me."

"Can't say that it worked."

Garak smiled. "Good, good! Precisely the right answer to give. Please, feel free to visit my shop at any time, my good time traveler."

"Uh, okay."

The tailor dropped off his tray and headed off, presumably back to his shop. Dean wasn't sure what to think of the man. They had each ferreted out that the other person was untruthful, that was certain, and Garak had apparently found a something in Dean that he found intriguing. However, the Cardassian's reference to his past dealings with a demon made Dean deeply suspicious. The hunter vowed to himself that he _would_ drop by the shop later on just as soon as he could grab a vial of holy water from his room.

* * *

There were voices outside the door, and Castiel couldn't help but hear the exchange. The space station emitted a constant hum from the electronics and computers which masked most other noises from his acute hearing, but it was not so loud as to muffle the sound of human voices in such close proximity.

"I've been sent to relieve you," said the first person.

"There must be some mistake," replied the second. "I just reported for duty an hour–" This one cut off suddenly. What followed was the unmistakable thump of a body hitting the floor.

Two sets of feet then walked away. Castiel waited until they turned a corner before exiting the room. He found a Starfleet officer collapsed onto the floor down the hallway. The man was still breathing and had no apparent wounds so the seraph let him be; he was afraid whatever was going on would be related to either himself or Dean which meant the involvement of Heaven or Hell. He therefore needed to conserve his Grace.

As quietly as possible, Castiel followed the pair. They encountered a tall, authoritative Cardassian and claimed they were there to escort him to a ship for his safety. When they entered the turbolift, the angel waited, listening to the sound of the mechanism moving through the station. When they disembarked, he flew to the adjoining corridor.

The group stopped in front of an airlock. Castiel kept his eyes on their captive. "Where's Commander Sisko?" asked the Cardassian.

"Comfortably relaxing in his quarters, I hope," sneered a third man who walked out from the airlock walkway. "Remember me?"

Resignedly, the Cardassian answered, "I take it we're not about to board a Cardassian freighter.

With surprising swiftness the gray-skinned man turned and punched the female with pointed ears (Castiel thought she might be a Vulcan). The woman fell to the ground prostrate and the Cardassian attempted a run for safety. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the seraph peering around the corner, then he was shot down by a beam of energy.

Castiel walked brazenly out into the open and knelt alongside the prostrate man. "You did not kill him," he informed the two others, "but I will not allow you to harm him further."

"Damnit!" the first man snarled. He fired at the seraph. He took the tickling beam of light curiously.

"What the–" said the second man. "Up the power!"

As Castiel advanced, the first man adjusted something on his weapon and fired again. This time, the energy burned horribly, causing the angel to cry out and fall to his hands and knees.

"Kill him!" cried the second.

"It's _already_ set on kill!"

The female had regained her feet and approached him, her face a horror; the Vulcan was _possessed_. She spared a moment to cast him a malicious smile before her expression once again became properly stoic. Castiel struggled through the pain to lift a hand and smite it as the thing snapped her hand out and pinched the nerves and muscles at the base of his vessel's neck. His eyes widened as his vessel became paralyzed and he slumped over.

"Interesting," she murmured. "He is still conscious."

"What do we do with him?" asked the second man.

"Bring him along," answered the Vulcan-demon. "I believe he is important to Commander Sisko and may serve as leverage. Be certain to remove the Bajoran combadge."

The first man popped the item off the angel's coat and the creature pinched his neck again, harder. His vessel's nervous systems couldn't handle a second assault and everything began to shut down. Castiel's last fleeting thought before unconsciousness took him was that Constable Odo was going to be very angry that the combadge had been removed.

* * *

As soon as Dean spotted the man lying on the floor he rushed forward, slapped his combadge, and transmitted, "Julian! Someone's been downed in front of our room!"

"I'll be right there," came the answer. "Is he breathing?"

"Yeah."

"Don't move him. I'm leaving right now."

Beset with a sudden fear for his friend, Dean rushed into his room and searched about. "Cass?" he called as strode from the main room to the bedroom. "Cass? Shit!"

He got back into the hallway just as Julian, his assistant, and the Constable arrived. "Cass is gone," Dean said, panicked. "What the hell happened?"

"Computer," Odo instructed, "locate Castiel."

"Castiel is in the passageway to airlock four."

"Come with me," the Constable ordered Dean. He accompanied the shapeshifter to the turbolift without argument as the medical personnel cared for the unconscious officer.

* * *

"What the fuck do you mean, he's not here?"

Odo frowned at the combadge in his hand. The time traveler was understandably upset over his friend's disappearance, but Odo was more concerned over the news that Gul Dukat was also missing. Castiel was of importance to the incoming historians and to Mr. Winchester and his disappearance would cause only them some distress; the kidnapping of high-ranking member of the Cardassian military was going to have far more serious repercussions.

"I told Castiel not to leave and that you were beholden to his good behavior," Odo said absently, "but the simultaneous kidnapping of Dukat _and_ your friend is far too coincidental. He must have been taken by the same people."

"What for?" Mr. Winchester asked as he paced restlessly.

"I have no idea, but whatever the reason taking a Cardassian official is going to stir up trouble. It would be best if you stayed in your room for now."

"No fucking way!" the time traveler fumed. "Cass is the last goddamn friend of mine left and you are _not_ keeping me out of this!"

"Fine!" Odo capitulated angrily, too tense about the impending trouble to reign in his temper. "But if the Commander decides you're not involved, then I'll see you locked back in that suite under guard until this is over."

Mr. Winchester suddenly paused, holding up one hand crouching down to the floor Odo watched, nonplussed, as he brushed a fingertip along the carpet. When the Constable approached, Mr. Winchester stood and held out his discovery; a powdery yellow substance.

"Sulfur," Mr. Winchester declared. "There's a _demon_ involved."

* * *

The discovery of the demonic substance granted Dean a spot in Ops where the senior staff had gathered to plan. They were, however, left cooling their heels while the Commander was given a blistering lecture on his failure to prevent the past few days' events. Apparently there had been a second kidnapping prior to Castiel and Dukat; a human suspected of bombing the freighter. He had ended up in Cardassian hands and from what Dean had gleaned this had slated the man a painful interrogation. The hunter wondered if Garak was involved somehow.

As the Constable argued with the Starfleet personnel about the regulations that their organization had forced upon his office (thus hampering his ability to maintain order), Dean took stock of the people surrounding him. Jadzia was Jadzia; calm and collected and acting far older than she seemed to be. Julian wasn't participating in much of the conversation as the subject was off his purview. Miles was defensive; he wasn't taking kindly to the criticism of his beloved Starfleet. Major Bitchy-Bajoran was maintaining her bitchiness. She had some serious issues to work out about this "Occupation" thing.

The argument ground to a halt when the Commander stormed out of his office. By the expression on his face, Dean thought Benjamin could have benefited from a door to slam rather than one that passively slid open and shut on its own. "I want a complete review of all security measures on board this station," he announced.

"I'd be happy to accommodate you," Odo replied. A hint of sarcasm laced the shapeshifter's words.

"What do we have from the guard?"

"He's given us a description of the two who assaulted him," answered Nerys. "A Vulcan female and a human male in a Starfleet officer's uniform."

"And which of these was the demon?" the Commander asked of Dean.

"No way I can tell without them being in front of me," he replied. "Cass would have seen their real face so I got no idea how they got the drop on him."

"Did you say a Vulcan?" Jadzia wanted clarified. "If Castiel's body is organic, there's a defense technique they utilize that veritably shuts down the nervous system. Most species are susceptible."

As the discussion moved to something about what ship had been used for the kidnapping, Dean pondered whether or not that would have incapacitated the seraph. Apparently so as he was now gone, which led to the disturbing revelation that there were aspects of Castiel's vessel that were vulnerable to alien attack. Dean wondered other sorts of funky martial arts did these guys have up their sleeves. Did they know how to kill with their toes? Was there a race who could actually successfully perform the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique? That would be somewhere between unnerving and awesome.

"Doctor, Major, you're with me," the Commander was saying. "Odo, send a message to Commander Hudson at the Volan colony that I'm moving in his direction on the assumption that Dukat will be taken to the Demilitarised zone. Give him the warp signature of the ship."

"Hey, whoa whoa whoa!" Dean cried as the team began to separate. "I'm coming with!"

"You are _not_!" Nerys stated from central console.

The two of them glowered at one another. "Hey, I'm the one that knows how to handle a damn demon," the hunter argued. "If that Vulcan chick really is possessed then you're going to want me there before Cass ups and smites the bitch like he did Varak."

"Very well," Benjamin acquiesced. "I want a minimum amount of casualties," he told Nerys. "If he knows how to handle the Vulcan without killing her then he'll be useful."

The Bajoran pressed her lips together, then a bleep drew her attention down to the computer screen. "Commander," she called out, "we just received a general subspace transmission from somewhere in the Demilitarized Zone. A group there is taking credit for the kidnapping of Dukat." She looked up at the rest of the staff, bewildered. "They're calling themselves the _Maquis_."

* * *

 **Author's Note** : The Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique is from _Kill Bill_.

As for Castiel being affected by the Vulcan nerve pinch: he still has a human(ish) body, so I'm taking the assumption that shutting it down would shut him down too. I can't think of an example but just take my word for it? Please? :D


	12. Chapter 12

11/28/2016 - I know, I'm a bad person, I haven't updated in sort of forever. Unfortunately writing this fic takes actual research on Star Trekkie stuff and it takes up a lot of time. The Buffy crossovers are easier only because I know most of those episodes backwards and forwards. But anyways, now classes are done and it's time to go back to getting lost in space!

Anyways, thank you **332249** , **princessbinas** , **missmeow1968** , **PsykoJinx** , **psychee** , **PineappleoftheLordAssbutte** (that is an awesome name, btw), , **Crowley** (0_o), **EddBlackheart** , and **LII** for the reviews! And if you favoriters and followers leave a couple of words you get fluffy bunnies!

* * *

Castiel woke up once on the way to their destination, but the Vulcan-demon had been prepared and immediately put him under again. The next time he was awake, he found himself handcuffed lying on the ground with an angel trap drawn underneath his body.

"I'm not certain why," came a smooth, haughty voice, "but the Vulcan was quite insistent that they draw that decoration on the floor before you were to be left alone."

The seraph eyed the edge of the sigil as he shuffled himself to a sitting position. Across from him, leaning against some shipping containers, sat the Cardassian he had attempted to rescue. Castiel looked around and discovered they were in a cavern modified for storage with the only exit being up a flight of steel stairs and through a heavily armed human.

He was chagrined to discover that the sigil was not drawn, it was carved into the stone. The burnt edges made him think that it was done with one of their light guns. "I'm trapped and powerless," Castiel stated.

"By a picture?" the Cardassian asked, incredulous.

"Yes. Unless you have some way of breaking these lines."

"Nothing comes to mind, particularly since they used a phaser to create that little piece of art. I must say, I do like the symmetry of it."

"It is not art, it is a sigil meant to trap beings such as myself."

"And what would that be?" The other man scoffed at himself. "Please forgive me, where are my manners? I am Gul Dukat of Cardassia. And you are…?"

"Castiel," the seraph replied absently as he vainly tried to summon the gun the human was holding. He sighed in frustration. The trap was worse than a circle of holy fire; at least in one of those he could still access his celestial abilities.

"That's it? Just 'Castiel'? No rank, no family name? I thought you humans were so fond of these labels."

"I am not human and I have neither of those designations."

"Oh? Then what are you?"

From what Compy had told him, the Cardassian people were antithetical towards religion, to the point where they viewed those that were devout (like the Bajorans) as backwards and inferior. Castiel didn't think this Gul Dukat would believe his origins as a direct descendant from God. "I am just… not human."

"He is an angel," announced the Vulcan-demon as she descended the ladder. "A being of Heaven who is very, _very_ far from home."

As expected, Dukat rolled his eyes. "Heaven? As in that nonsense about a better place after you die? What sort of idiot do you take me for."

"A very large one," commented the armed human who had followed the demon. Dukat gave him a smug smirk.

The Vulcan-demon stood in front of the sigil and knelt before Castiel. He stared stoically back at the thing, its naturally hideous features layered over the mildly handsome ones of the vessel it possessed. "They do not believe me," the demon said, her voice loud enough to echo through the cavern. "Therefore it is logical for me to prove to them what you are. I wonder," she continued, her voice so quiet as to make their conversation private, "if I were to engage a blood sigil, I wonder where you would go?"

The truth was, Castiel had no idea. His many transgressions, up to and including the slaughter that had transpired while powered by the souls of Purgatory, had made Heaven a place where he was unwelcome. Whether the angel was barred completely was questionable, as was the reception he'd receive if he did suddenly appear on his brother's and sister's doorstep. The best thing to do was to discourage the demon from trying.

"It is possible," Castiel said casually, not bothering to lower his volume, "that I would be sent only a relatively short distance. After all, we are far from Earth. You know, an angel landing on Earth's surface causes great destruction." He leaned in and bared his teeth. "Are you so very certain that I won't come crashing through your little cave?"

"Enough!" the human snapped. "We can't risk it, Sakonna."

The demon's eyes flashed momentarily black, its vessel's features twisting in anger. Then proper Vulcan impassivity reasserted itself and she stood to address the human. "Very well. I will begin the mind meld with the Cardassian."

* * *

Dean ended up not going with the Commander. For one, Bitchy Bajoran was coming as second in command; for another, the thing they called a runabout was horrendously small. The last thing the hunter wanted was to be trapped in what was basically a closet with the vitriolic woman. Unfortunately the doctor was also on the crew, ostensibly to ensure the health of the Cardassian the Maquis had kidnapped, robbing Dean of one of the few people on the station that he tolerate.

After making some excuses about being unused to twenty fourth century travel, the hunter went back to wandering the Promenade. It was later in the evening and most of the shops were closed. Dean ended up in Quark's where, to his relief, the proprietor was busy running the weird roulette-like game in the center of the bar. He ordered another one of the Cardassian ales and was then flummoxed when he was asked for payment.

"I've got him," said Miles O'Brien as he sat next to the hunter. The Ferengi bartender nodded and left the bottle and two glasses.

The Chief eyed the drink apprehensively. "You like that stuff?"

"Strong and smells like shit," Dean answered as he poured two portions. "Just the way I like it."

The two men raised glasses and clinked them together. Miles took a small sip and made a face while Dean chugged his down. Eyebrows raised, the Chief watched the hunter pour himself a second glass. "Didn't realize twenty-first century taste buds were that desensitized."

"I've had worse."

Miles chuckled a little before braving another sip. "Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about. You did a good job yesterday on that door. We were banging around in there for nearly a bloody hour before you showed."

"Thanks."

The Chief pointed around the room. "This station's actually a big mash of Cardassian, Bajoran, and Federation technology. Cardassians scuttled the thing when they abandoned it and we're still picking up the pieces. My wife's been complaining that I'm missing too many dinners with my little girl."

Little girl? For a moment Dean was surprised that the officers would bring their children to a place that had exploding ships and political kidnappings. Not to mention random cranky time travelers showing up on their doorsteps. Then again, maybe all this conflict was just an anomaly that had cropped up since he and Cass had dropped in.

After taking another tongue-scorching sip, Miles continued. "Would you be willing to come on as part of my repair crew? You'd be able to cover the cost of your drinks by yourself at least."

Dean blinked at him. "Don't I need to be wearing one of those Starfleet bodysuits to work here?"

"Normally, yes. But I found a loophole specific to Deep Space 9. We register you as part of the Bajoran militia instead of Starfleet. Doubt you want to go through all that training to get this." The Chief gestured down at his black and yellow uniform.

"Militia? I'd be part of their, what, backwoods army?"

"Sort of, but not really. It's highly unlikely you'd ever get called to the battlefield, but you'd be beholden to Bajoran laws and regulations."

Dean grimaced and made Miles laugh. "Don't worry. You wouldn't be under Major Kira; you'd answer to me."

"Oh thank God," the hunter mumbled as he drank.

"So what do you say?"

Dean was conflicted. Being part of someone's militia, much less one from an alien planet, didn't seem very appealing. The Chief had said it was "highly unlikely" that the hunter would be called to the battlefield, but that still left a sliver of a possibility. Then again, it wasn't as if he wasn't experienced in combat. He looked mournfully down into his empty glass. Being able to pay for his own drink, at least ones that didn't come from the replicator (which tasted slightly weird), was also a plus.

There was also the factor that doing a job would at least keep him occupied. A small purpose, but a purpose nonetheless. Not so lofty as Cass' self-imposed guardianship against demonic activity but he'd at least be of some use to his hosts.

One problem needed to be clarified. "What about this trial thingy?" Dean asked.

Miles peered at him. "You really think they'll find you guilty?"

"Only if they're dicks."

"Then we shouldn't have a problem."

"All right," said Dean as he stuck out a hand. "You got a deal."

The Chief beamed and vigorously shook the hunter's hand. "Soon as the Major and the Commander return we'll get it all official-like and you can get started." He clapped Dean on the shoulder and rose to take his leave.

From somewhere, Dean honestly had no idea where, a Ferengi appeared in the space Miles had vacated causing the hunter to jump and curse. "The hell _you_ want?"

"Is-Is it true?" asked the man.

The stranger was, if Dean was any judge, smaller-eared than most of the other of his kind around the place. Unlike Quark, however, this one's mannerisms reminded the hunter of a beaten dog. The association made him ease up his tone. Slightly. Out of all the new races Dean had encountered the past several days the Ferengi had made him the most leery. "Is what true?"

"Did Chief O'Brien offer you a job? Even though you are not part of Starfleet?"

"Guess so."

"Wow," the man drawled, his eyes shining with admiration. "I'm Rom. I do a lot of the repairs here in the bar. You must have done something really special."

"I just repaired a freaking door. Why the hell is everyone so impressed?"

Rom let out an appreciative noise. "The Cardassian door technology is somewhat incompatible with Bajoran sensors. I have to fix the doors up in the Holosuites sometimes," he added abashedly.

"Holosuite?"

"Oh, that's right! You're the time traveler!" The Ferengi whipped his head back and forth before furtively whispering, "Want to see one?"

Intrigued, and fairly certain Rom had no ulterior motives, Dean followed the man up the stairs. What he'd thought were alcoves for clandestine meetings ended up being deep-set pairs of swishing doors. He could hear, very faintly, a wide variety of sounds coming from the ones they passed. From that one came what sounded like a sparring session with wooden implements. There was a party of sorts coming from that one. And from _that_ one were the unmistakable sounds of an orgy in full swing.

They stopped at the doors at the end of the hallway. Rom glanced over at the orgy room as he was pressing buttons and, shamefully, admitted, "Uh… I haven't gotten around to fixing the sound dampeners on that one. Don't tell my brother, please!"

"Who's your brother?"

"Quark," the Ferengi stated fearfully. He then scuttled into the open doors. Apprehensively, Dean stepped in after him.

And was absolutely dumbfounded.

They were standing on a small, beachside clearing, where a regular old wooden picnic table sat. A river was rushing by at a speed just this side of terrifying. A kayak that Dean could have bought from the local sports store was laid carefully in the sand, its oar sticking out of the seat.

The hunter backed up and looked behind him. A verdant forest, its insides invitingly glowing with dappled sunlight, stretched along the shoreline. When he turned around he realized that there was a mountainous rock face paralleling the green.

"What the fuck," he whispered.

"Did you want a female?" Rom inquired.

"What? No!" Dean wiped a hand down his face, belatedly remembering the ship's translation abilities didn't extend to his vulgar colloquialisms. He walked into the sand and felt grains crunch under his boots. When he knelt to touch the river, cool water lapped over his fingers.

"It's one of Chief O'Brien's programs," explained Rom. "I-I-I think he calls it… kai-yay-ing?"

"Kayaking," Dean corrected absentmindedly.

The hunter took a handful of sand and let the grains sift through his fingers. His mind was in complete turmoil. It was all well and good to say he had accepted the fact that Dick Roman had thrust him hundreds of years in the future, it was another to have the fact thrown in his face. This was _his_ Earth with _his_ period artifacts. Dean could have driven five miles from Bobby's cabin and found a spot _just like this._

Sam could be sitting on that table, a cooler full of beers on the seat. He could be making one of his maudlin speeches about feelings or the meaning of life or something equally nonsensical. Oftentimes Sammy would get angry because he thought his brother wasn't listening. But he was. Dean was always drinking in the sound of his (big) little brother's voice, happy in the knowledge that the Winchesters would always be together, that there would always be wooden picnic tables with beer and talk.

Except there _wouldn't_ be. Sammy was gone, his irradiated bones buried who knows where. The Impala wasn't sitting over there, Bobby's cabin was probably mulch, and everything he'd even known and loved was just gone, gone, _gone_.

"Turn it off," Dean demanded.

"A-Are you sure?" Rom asked tentatively. "I could find another—"

"I said, turn the fucking thing _OFF!_ "

The Ferengi jerked in surprise and stuttered, "C-C-Computer end p-p-program." Abruptly the riverside rest spot was gone and a room of black squares appeared. Hesitantly, Rom asked, "Are you okay?"

Dean gritted his teeth, his eyes burning with unshed tears. Now was _not_ a good time to break, not when Cass was in the clutches of some demon. "I'll be fine," he mumbled. As he stood, he gave the Ferengi his best carefree smirk. "Hey, how about next time you show me something like whatever's going down next door?"

Relieved, Rom smiled back. "Uh, sure! Only if you promise to put a good word in with Chief O'Brien for me."

"Not a problem, dude." Dean clapped the man on the shoulder and led them both to the door. "Just make sure no, like, tentacle beasts or whatever."

"I'd be more worried about Klingon females."

"What for?"

"I hear that if no one breaks a bone then it's not considered a good time."

"Yeah, let's call those chicks level five. Humans can be level one."

Dean was close to cracking, he was sure of it. He just needed to hold on a little bit longer so he could rescue his friend.

* * *

Commander Sisko, Major Kira, and Doctor Bashir returned the next day, and their news wasn't good.

The Commander had discovered that his Federation classmate, Lieutenant Commander Calvin Hudson, was now an integral member of the Maquis and had no intention of returning to his former duties. On top of that, an Admiral had arrived and took Sisko to task for allowing Gul Dukat to be kidnapped. Necheyev then insinuated that Odo was incompetent and that the Maquis merely needed to be coaxed back to civility.

A member of the Cardassian Central Command, Legate Parn, also arrived and placed the blame for the Federation settlers' unrest squarely on Gul Dukat's shoulders. Sisko smiled through the lies and decided that if the Central Command wanted Dukat dead then Benjamin definitely needed him alive.

Dean, who was on the way to visit Julian, watched the arrest of Quark on illegal smuggling charges. The hunter had never heard so many pathetic excuses spat out so quickly.

Apparently Quark had facilitated the sale of some extraordinarily destructive materiel. Discovering their location became paramount. As soon as O'Brien managed to calibrate the Maquis ship's possible route, Sisko called in Doctor Bashir and Odo for another trip.

They were stepping through the landing pad's doors when Dean came streaking around the corner. The Commander lifted an eyebrow at him. "I thought you weren't going to step foot in one of our 'space traveling closets,' Mr. Winchester."

"Yeah, well, changed my mind." Dean looked around uneasily. "Where's bitc–uh, Major Kira?"

"She'll hold the station until we return." Sisko's tone became brisk. "If you're coming with us, then we need to go now. Every second we waste brings the possibility of more lives being lost."

Dean drew a bottle out from inside his jacket. "Okay to bring liquids on board?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Odo wondered curiously.

"Guess there's no TSA here to make me take off my shoes and probe my ass for bombs. I'm good to go."

The Commander nodded and the four men boarded the Rio Grande runabout. O'Brien had charted five possible planets that the Maquis could have taken Dukat. All they had to do now is figure out which one it was before these skirmishes became a full blown war.


End file.
